30 Days, A Marriage
by Lady Memory
Summary: COMPLETE! An angry Severus and a horrified Hermione are put together in the same house because of a danger impending on her. Will this forced cohabitation transform itself in real love in 30 days' time? A slow crescendo with quarrels, drama, humour and suspense. The story is completed and, as it is in the form of a diary, it will be published a chapter a day.
1. Prologue

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

**(A guy named Severus, a girl called Hermione)**

_by Lady Memory_

**_Disclaimer:_**_This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**A quick explanation** (it's useful, be patient): the title "30 Days, a Marriage" comes from a wonderful movie with Sean Connery, whose title was "Five Days, One Summer", meaning that in that short length of time a whole summer was condensed.

The idea was to put together in the same house an angry Severus and a horrified Hermione, because of a danger impending on her. Would this forced cohabitation transform itself in real love in 30 days' time?

This story was originally thought as an exercise to learn the names in English of the objects and the verbs useful for everyday survival. (I always say that, for an Italian - yes, I am Italian - it's easier to discuss Shakespeare than to order a dish in a restaurant, let alone ask for something in a hardware store). However, after a while, I got more and more involved in my narration, and… well, the exercise became a tale packed with angst, feelings and suspense.

Currently, the story is completed and, as it is in form of a diary, it will be posted with very short intervals between every chapter. I'd also like to warn those interested in reading that, though I have tried to keep my characters in canon as much as possible, my novel is totally AU, having being conceived as an interlude and not an alternative.

Finally, this story has two endings. You can choose the one that you prefer.

**Thanks and dedication:**

This story has received the support of many kind people in the four years I have been writing it. Yes, you have read it well. It took me **4 years** to complete it, and two other years to have it revised…

So, I want to thank all my helpers below:

**Konekko**, the first one who read my early chapters and who enthusiastically encouraged me to go on.

**DementedLeaf** and **Xoxphoenix**, who kindly previewed and revised the first half of the story with the fresh look of youth.

**Duj** and **Tearsofphoenix**, who came immediately after and commented again every chapter, following me till the end of this adventure and giving me precious suggestions.

**AmyLouise**, who helped me with the corrections of the last chapters; without her, this story would have never been completed.

Finally, a very special thank you to **Angelicka**, who patiently, stubbornly and thoroughly revised the piece, offering her native knowledge of the English matters.

The mistakes you will still find are all mine.

_**To **__**Laura**_, my beautiful daughter  


******... ... ... ... ... ** Prologue **... ... ... ... ...**  


With great discretion, the old man Apparated in a dark corner of the lane. As imagined, the place was still crowded with people, even at that late hour of the night. And such heat! It was unbearable, especially for a wizard who came from Scotland, wasn't very familiar with Muggle clothing and, therefore, hadn't exactly chosen the most appropriate ones for the season.

He should have remembered. Italy, the land of sun. Perhaps his host could suggest a good place for a real pizza? He was beginning to hate the poor imitations the house-elves were preparing at Hogwarts. Although, dressed as he was, the pleasure could soon become a torture. Well, in this case, perhaps his host could order a takeaway pizza?

He sighed. His mission. He was there for a mission. But the joy and the excitement that filled the air were a bit intoxicating. He promised himself that he would return soon, when times had got better.

Smiling benevolently at the perplexed passers-by, he pressed the button of the entry phone and waited. A thrilled feminine voice answered immediately with a heavy Italian accent.

"Professor Dumbledore? Are you here? Please, do come in!"

With a swift wave of his wand, he changed his clothes into his usual majestic attire before entering the little house. A dark haired middle-aged woman, short and slightly overweight, had opened the door, eyes sparkling with pleasure and affection.

He bowed and tried to kiss her hand, but she graciously refused, "Ah, Professor, you'll make me blush!"

He smiled kindly, and she led him through a confusion of rooms to her terrace, exclaiming joyfully, "_La pizza si raffredda_! Pizza gets cold! I have ordered a special Quattro Stagioni* for you! You simply must try it. It comes directly from RossoPomodoro*!"

At this announcement, his mouth watered in anticipation. Ah, the warm Italian hospitality!

...

The moon was beginning to lower in the sky, and dawn was slowly taking those fresh, vivid colours so typical of the Italian summer. They had talked a lot, and the woman's expression had changed, passing from curiosity to pain, then to surprise and finally to worry.

Stomach full of delicious food, the old wizard considered the thoughtful lady with his piercing eyes, while he continued swinging on a comfortable rocking chair.

Then, directing his gaze at the fading stars, he intertwined his fingers and quietly asked, "So, my dear, I have told you everything. Now, what do you think? Would you accept? Would you try to help us?"

"Well," she stammered, and blushed again. "I am obviously honoured by your request… I can't deny I like him very much. He and the girl. But really… I am a bit afraid… Are you sure it's really my help that you need?"

Dumbledore stopped his rocking—and the irritating squeaks the old chair was emitting with every movement.

"Of course!" he exclaimed forcefully, bending towards her and placing a wrinkled hand on her knee. "How can you doubt? I would not have accepted such a trip if I weren't sure that your help was simply indispensable!"

She raised two very incredulous eyes to look at him. He smiled reassuringly, but she didn't return his smile. Instead, her gaze suddenly hardened.

"If I am to help you, I want to be granted at least the conclusion. I demand to have your word about it."

He smiled again and added with a devilish look, "No problem, dear Madam. I had already thought of a worthy reward. You'll be granted three different options."

She widened her eyes for a moment, then she asked suspiciously, "But will they be up to me to decide?"

"Obviously!" he replied with a wink.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Will I be allowed to use… Magic?"

He chuckled merrily. "I was sure you would appreciate my offer. Now, now, let's celebrate our pact! We will discuss the details later."

She was definitely hooked, and they both knew it. He raised his glass in a gallant toast. "To you, and to your quill."

She happily replied, "To Hogwarts and to the wizarding world!"

A deal was signed.

* * *

**N/A:**

_Quattro Stagioni*: literally "Four Seasons", a special pizza usually featuring tomato and mozzarella cheese, and decorated in quarters with sliced boiled eggs, little artichokes, black olives, ham and mushrooms._

_RossoPomodoro*: a famous group of restaurants that cook original Neapolitan pizza, using only ingredients coming from Campania, the region where Napoli (Naples) is situated._


	2. Sunday - Day 1

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**Sunday - Day 1 – Explanations?**

Feeling dizzy and immensely sleepy, the girl opened her eyes, blinking in the half-obscurity. She was curled up in a soft but frayed armchair, the dusty smell of which was beginning to irritate her nostrils, and a blanket was wrapped around her body. The room was cold and uninviting: all the furniture she could see was old and worn, and the whole place looked unfamiliar to her.

Rubbing her eyes in confusion, she raised herself on her elbows, suppressing a nervous yawn that was attempting to force its way out. Her back was aching from the cramped position she had slept in, so she cautiously began to stretch her arms. Unexpectedly, a deep, silky voice froze her in her movement, speaking in that hateful tone she had learnt to detest in her school days.

"Awake, Miss Granger?"

Suddenly alarmed, she raised her head and looked at her interlocutor, hoping to be wrong. Unfortunately, she wasn't. Professor Snape was staring at her with his characteristic scowl, and she instinctively retreated into her armchair while he continued in his deceptively caressing tone, "I would never have imagined that you could sleep for such a long time. I would have been spared the worry if I had been aware of the possibility."

Anxiety was filling her eyes, and she looked uncertainly at his towering, somewhat menacing figure.

"What place is this? Why are we here?" she managed to ask, forcing her voice to be firm.

"Respect, young lady!" he replied brusquely. "You won't be entitled to receive any answer unless you pose your questions in the proper manner."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered, feeling oddly reassured at his usual, harsh reaction. "Would you please tell me what place is this and why are we here?"

Words were the same, but tone had changed into deference. He smiled grimly.

"This is a country house, Miss Granger; a safe, isolated country house which has been made Unplottable. No kind of magic – and I absolutely mean NO kind of magic – must be used inside these rooms or the house will immediately become detectable again.

"Why… why are you telling me this?" she gasped, struggling with the effort of keeping her eyes open, feeling exhausted again in spite of her growing anxiety.

"Because this is the place in which you – and unfortunately I with you – are going to spend our future days. We must be very careful that nobody can find it, unless we need them to reach us."

"But what's happening?" she cried with a sudden pang of fear. "Why us?"

Her worried brown eyes again met his dark ones. She swallowed, lowering her head under his cold gaze.

"Please, sir?" she added trembling.

He didn't answer.

"The spell is working well," he instead declared rather incongruously, crossing his arms with a strange smile.

Her head began to swing and she desperately tried to talk, but torpor was enfolding her more and more powerfully. Finally, with a little sigh, she leaned back, closing her eyelids in abandon.

"Good night, Miss Granger," the hateful voice said.


	3. Monday - Day 2

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**Monday - Day 2 – Explanations!**

When she opened her eyes again, instinct told her that it was late afternoon. Candles were brightening the room, and the soft roar of the flames in the fireplace gave a slightly warmer touch to the still incontestably gloomy atmosphere. It was a living room, she decided. There was a table, a few chairs, some bookshelves and a credenza. Five mysterious doors – two in front of her, two behind her and one at her side - led to even more mysterious destinations.

Everything looked very cheap and used. "Spartan," she thought with a yawn, wrapping herself more tightly in the blanket.

The door in front of her opened slowly. Professor Snape entered and stopped in surprise, looking at her as if she were a particularly interesting specimen.

"I suppose you have actually woken up today?" he asked sarcastically. "Although you chose the wrong moment to do so. We'll have to go to sleep again soon."

She blinked, trying to focus on the images around her. A wonderful scent of food was following Professor Snape, and suddenly, her stomach growled. She blushed more and more intensely, and he smiled, coldly amused at her confusion.

"It sounds like you are hungry", he said, crossing his arms in his habitual gesture. "There is hot soup waiting for us in the kitchen, if you would graciously deign to join me. It comes from Hogwarts and, I can assure you, it's excellent."

Slowly, hesitantly, she let the blanket slip from her shoulders and, a bit unsteadily, she got to her feet. She was still dressed in her school uniform and felt uncomfortably unclean. The intense desire for a shower fluttered in her mind for a moment, but appetite was stronger, and she focused again on the food. A grim smile still playing on his lips, Professor Snape whirled on his heels and strode to open the door from where he had recently appeared. Walking uncertainly, as if in a dream, she followed him.

The kitchen looked completely different from the other room: it was much more pleasant and even cheerful in its furnishings. A little table was set with dishes, and seats had soft cushions on them. Still wondering in confusion, she sat and stared blankly at the smoking tureen. He filled her plate with exaggerated attention, then sat with a pleased sigh and took his spoon with an expectant gaze. But she remained motionless, and he put down the spoon with a snort.

"Well? I hope you are not expecting me to feed you like a baby!" he urged her in impatience.

Hurt by his tone and by his total lack of understanding, she raised her eyes to look at him. A deep frown formed on her face. "I don't want this!" she exclaimed resolutely.

"This is a bad start," he warned her, curling his lips in irritation. "Eat and avoid this petulant behaviour."

"I'm not going to eat anything unless you explain to me why I am here!" she replied stubbornly. "And don't ask me to be polite," she hurried to say, preventing his angry reply. "I want an explanation, here and now!"

This audacious declaration immediately lost its force as soon as she added a tremulous "Please?" that revealed her immense disorientation. He considered her for a long time, and she sustained his gaze as bravely as she could. Then he put both his hands on the table and spoke again, in a practical, brisk tone.

"As you wish, Miss Granger. I would prefer to fill my stomach, but I'll be brief so the soup will still be edible at the end of my speech. We are here because Professor Dumbledore identified a danger, a very great danger that could lead our party to destruction. There is a vital fragment of information enclosed in your brain, something that could bring the Dark Lord to victory if he should ever discover it."

She looked at him with shocked eyes. He bowed with mocking courtesy, as if acknowledging her superior state, then he continued, "To prevent the… the loss of this precious information, Professor Dumbledore decided to hide you in a secure place. He personally chose this little house, which is located near a remote village far away in the mountains and practically isolated from commercial and tourist routes. Then he transported you here yesterday afternoon, in total secrecy."

Her eyes were now widened, and a multitude of feelings altered her features. She gulped and said brokenly, "But… but I don't remember anything about this!"

He tilted her head towards her. "Before leaving, you were thoroughly Obliviated, the spell reaching and operating on the deepest layers of your brain. This is why you feel so sleepy now. The spell was incredibly strong."

Even more terrified, she looked at him in desperation, "But if I have been Obliviated, what kind of danger could I represent now? The information must have been totally erased!"

He straightened his back and intertwined his fingers on the table.

"Unfortunately," he said slowly, considering her with a thoughtful gaze, "memories cannot be completely destroyed. Professor Dumbledore did his best - and he is a great wizard - but we cannot exclude the possibility that the Dark Lord may extract them again from your brain. Remember, he is an extraordinary Legilimens…"

A cruel expression curled his lips while he softly added, "And he has no scruples."

Her eyes were slowly filling with tears. Angry and ashamed at the same time, she lowered her head, trying to find something to pat them dry. With a condescending smile, he offered her a handkerchief. She took it after a little hesitation and wiped the traces from her cheeks. Then she resolutely raised her head again and, facing him with a new determination, she asked firmly, "So, why you?"

He took a deep breath inward and released it again in impatience.

"Professor Dumbledore thought that our enemies would probably not think to inspect this house, as it is mine. I inherited this cottage from my grandparents. Very few know about its existence, and nobody about its location because, unlike my real house, it is supposed to be a shelter for desperate times. So, the Dark Lord himself would understand my decision to make it Unplottable. As long as he trusts me, you are perfectly safe in this place."

He allowed her the time to digest this information, then he continued with a frown.

"Now listen carefully: as I told you previously – and I want to repeat it now, as you were too drowsy yesterday – no kind of magic must ever be used inside here. Please, remember this. I've been chosen to be your guardian, but unpleasantly enough, my life has been placed into your hands with this decision, and this concerns me. I hope you are not going to attempt any of your foolhardy Gryffindor exploits."

She put her elbows on the table and rested her forehead against her fists, sighing deeply. He looked at her and his lips curled downwards.

"If you think you have been tricked, I can tell you that the feeling is mutual. I'm not enjoying this task, and I'm not enjoying sharing this house with an irritating little know-it-all who could irremediably blow my cover by doing something stupidly heroic."

She jerked her head up, and an angry spark lit menacingly in her eyes.

"Then let me go back to Hogwarts immediately!" she hissed in low fury. "I will ask Professor Dumbledore to provide accommodation with somebody else!"

He had a sardonic little smile.

"Unfortunately, that can't be done. Annoyingly wise and old-fashioned as he is, Professor Dumbledore also took another precaution, but it seems that this too has been cancelled from your mind. I regret to inform you that you agreed to marry me before coming here…"

This time, her eyes widened in panic.

"Relax!" he declared bitterly, raising his hands at her appalled expression, "your virtue is not in jeopardy. As I explained to you, this is only a ruse that could prove useful for possible future events… and prevent gossip. In any case, whether you like it or not, nobody can take you until we divorce."

"But don't worry," he added softly through gritted teeth. "That will be the first thing I'll do when we get back again… if we survive."

...

After a dinner consumed in a tense silence, her stomach churning in anguish and repulsion, Snape showed her the house with stiff formality.

Snow was falling slowly outside the windows and she felt lost in that white desert, with that dark, disagreeable man as her only companion. The house was almost buried in a little forest, and all she could see through the windows was a black shadow menacingly surrounding them.

Staring at the darkness outside, she asked blankly, "What month is it?"

Looking very surprised, he replied, "December."

Suddenly, she realised that even that irrelevant memory had been wiped from her brain. Tears began to trickle slowly and uncontrollably down her cheeks, and she dashed her hand across her face, hoping to hide them. But Professor Snape was quick to notice and said with a sarcastic tone, "I hope you are not going to cry continuously, Miss Granger. I imagined Gryffindors to be much tougher. But perhaps you are a Gryffindor only when you have an escort around you."

She wiped her eyes angrily. Married to him! How could Professor Dumbledore have trapped her in such a situation! Then another thought crossed her mind: what if, instead, it was a _real_ trap? What if Professor Snape was trying to control her for _his_ evil plans?

She looked at him in sudden fear. Alone… She was alone and defenceless. He sent her a perplexed glance in return, then brusquely announced that it was time to go to bed. She cringed in panic, before realizing that their bedrooms were obviously separate, even though their doors were on the same side of the living room, opposite the kitchen and bathroom. With a sardonic smile at her reaction, he wished her a good night.

Now, the bathroom had been a pleasant surprise: everything looked modern and shiny. Almost too modern, she thought. Evidently, Professor Dumbledore had prepared the house before casting the Unplottable, and had reserved particular care for the kitchen and the bathroom, two places that could be extremely unappealing in that cold season if not properly organised.

On the contrary, her room was clean and ordered in a depressing, austere way. A bed, a chair, a desk and a wardrobe, all made from cheap materials, plus a bookshelf, desolately empty except for four or five dated Muggle paperback romances.

She would have liked to take a shower before going to bed, but there was just one bathroom, which was obviously going to be used by Professor Snape too… And he didn't look like somebody who enjoyed waiting. Furthermore, the idea of undressing with him on the other side of the door was making her feel deeply vulnerable…

Then she found her travelling bag with her clothes beside the bed. She must have prepared it before leaving, but she hadn't any clear memory about that either. At this point, weariness and discomfort induced her to delay her idea. It was too cold and late to take a shower anyway… Feeling suddenly exhausted, she curled under the heavy covers and closed her eyes with a sigh. Silence enfolded her and a terrible night of waiting began.


	4. Tuesday - Day 3

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**Tuesday - Day 3 – New Life**

The night had been dreadful. Not tired enough to sleep and, at the same time, terribly upset by the news Professor Snape had just told her, Hermione lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling for many endless hours, the events of the evening incessantly coming and going in her mind. But finally, tiredness and concern exacted their toll. The first hours of the morning found Hermione sleeping deeply, and when she woke up, a bright light was filtering through the window.

She sighed in despair. It wasn't a nightmare! She really was in that horrid house! And… and Professor Snape had married her! Now, what was her supposed husband doing out there?

Feeling her heart thudding powerfully in her chest, she timidly opened the door. The living room was perfectly silent. No noise came from kitchen and bathroom either. She felt reassured and anxious at the same time. Then her eyes caught sight of a piece of parchment on the table, and she grabbed it eagerly.

Small, regular handwriting stated, _"I didn't want to disturb your much deserved rest. I'll be back at 6 tonight. Remember: NO magic inside the house_ (these lines were heavily underlined) _and no going outside without good reason_."

The message wasn't signed, but she felt better. And feeling better, all her needs and desires came unexpectedly back in powerful waves.

The morning was hers, so she spent a lot of time in the bathroom. A hot shower promised to be a joy while snow kept falling regularly outside. Soon she discovered a collection of beauty products in neatly ordered lines in one of the two cupboards. She stared at them pensively – again, she realised she must have prepared them to bring before being Obliviated but she had no memory of that - then she glanced with curiosity at the twin cupboard, and finally, she opened it. Once more, a well-organised assortment of beauty items twinkled back, but this time carefully selected for a man. And while _her_ products were Muggle brands, _his_ came straight from Hogsmeade. She looked in fascinated amusement at names like "Perfect Wizard Elixir" and "Magical Care". It was fun to think of Professor Snape using "Charming Balm" to shave himself. Till now, she hadn't even imagined that he could be so… "normal".

She closed the doors and allowed herself a luxurious bath, relaxing in the perfumed bubbly water and enjoying the warmth.

After her bath, she dressed and went out to check the rest of the house. The living room was cold. The flames were languishing in the hearth, and she hurried to add little pieces of wood and coal, paying attention not to suffocate the embers. It was a struggle, as she wasn't used to fires and fireplaces, and at the end, her hands were dirty again with soot.

Hunger called powerfully, and she went to visit the kitchen where an unpleasant surprise was waiting for her. The dishes of the evening before were stacked in ordered piles in the sink, waiting to be washed. With a sigh, she dedicated herself to that task, remembering how many years had passed since she had done something similar in her parents' house. When finished, she looked in the refrigerator and prepared some sandwiches. She ate them avidly then she cleaned everything again. It was still early afternoon. So many hours before speaking with another human being, even assuming that the other "human being" wanted to!

She sighed deeply. The house had been thoroughly explored, but she decided to take another tour although there wasn't much to see. The main door opened onto the living room. On the right, there were the bedrooms, and on the left, the kitchen and the bathroom. Looking more closely, she also found a cupboard, concealed in the living room. So, it seemed that she had seen all that could be seen, except for one thing. Tempting in its mystery, like that famous room in a children's tale, Professor Snape's door looked invitingly at her…

But she resisted, and to further avoid temptation, she went back to her room, where she organized her wardrobe and hung up the clothes she didn't remember packing. Glimpsing her school sweater, she suddenly felt a pang of anguish. Her friends… what were they doing? Did they know what had happened to her? Of course not, but were they at least wondering about her? Were they missing her? Many other excruciating questions burnt in her heart, and she finally cried, letting tears draw little round damp shapes on her sweater.

The room became darker and darker while she stared blankly at the walls, trying to combine the many missing pieces of that confusing puzzle. Then, unexpectedly, she heard the click of a key opening a door. She immediately felt anxiety tightening her heart. But also, something strangely similar to relief…

"Miss Granger?" called a harsh voice. "I'm back."

He was clearly announcing himself. Well, how considerate on his part! She brushed her hair out, wiped away the remainder of her tears and went out to greet him.

"Good evening, Professor," she said hesitantly.

A dark figure had entered the living room, followed by a chilling puff of air. Little icy droplets were slowly trickling down from Professor Snape's black cloak, sprinkled by snow, and he was carrying a big box in his bare hands. Wind was howling in the distance, and stars twinkled cruelly on the black velvet of the sky. He closed the door, leaning against it with his back, and sighed with relief. Then he noticed her, glanced around for a rapid check, and looked at her again.

"The house is still standing." As always, sarcasm was evident in his voice. "It's good to see that you can do what you are asked. It's … encouraging."

She stood still, refusing to swallow the bait. She had been alone for too many hours to quarrel with her only source of company and information.

With a puzzled glance at her silence, Professor Snape put down the pack, took off his cloak and hung it up, then picked up the pack again. A cold breeze was still emanating from him, and she understood with a shiver that he had walked for a long stretch in the snow.

"You must be frozen," she said impulsively. "Come in and warm yourself near the fireplace. I'll take care of your parcel."

He raised his brow in surprise, then his eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a wondering frown. Hermione moved forwards to take the pack and their hands met. His fingers were cold and stiff, and the pack was unexpectedly heavy. He had an ironical smile.

"Playing the part of the perfect hostess this evening, Miss Granger? Leave the parcel to me. Our dinner is inside, and I'm sure you wouldn't like to drop it on the floor."

She blushed before preceding him to the kitchen door. He entered and placed the box on the bench; then looked around and remarked, "No table set? My, my, Miss Granger, your future unfortunate husband, if you ever find him, is not going to appreciate this laziness."

She blushed even more until he noticed her unease.

"At least you washed the dishes…" he continued sarcastically, then he perceived the scent and noticed her hair.

"What else did you do, today?" he asked with a smirk, "Oh, I see. Full session at a spa. I hope you weren't planning a seduction. I am much more interested in food at the moment."

At this point she was hurt and angry by his incivility; she hadn't planned any seduction – with Professor Snape! Just imagine! – and she wasn't expected to prepare anything! But he was right; she couldn't presume to be waited upon by that exhausted, icy man: he had done his part, bringing in the food after a long walk in the snow. Furthermore, it wasn't worth bickering about since she had to stay there with him for… how many days? She sighed inwardly at the thought and replied calmly," I'm sorry. I didn't know you would be back so early. But I can prepare everything now, it won't take me too long."

"I left you a note about my arrival, Miss Granger, and I would appreciate it if you could call me Sir or Professor. It would help to maintain the distance," he stated flatly and sat, resting his head wearily against the back of his seat. "In any case, we must share duties in this house. Therefore, I accept your apologies… and your offer." The voice was sharp, but his face looked extremely tired. "Let's explore your skills as a housekeeper."

She curled her lips in irritation at his tone, but kept silent and began to work efficiently. She knew where the different utensils were by then, so tablecloth and dishes were soon at their places. He didn't say a word in the meantime, and she noticed that his eyelids were closing intermittently as if he were struggling against sleep. She opened the box in curiosity, and found chicken soup, a roast beef with creamy mashed potatoes, vegetables and a piece of fruitcake. The food looked delicious, and her irritation lessened as she anticipated savouring the dinner. That evening, she was more than happy to know that there were house elves cooking for her somewhere else.

Dinner began in a sober atmosphere. He wasn't in the mood to talk while she was desperately trying to find a subject of conversation. Finally, she asked as politely as she could, "I was wondering, Professor, how Professor Dumbledore explained my departure?"

"You believe yourself so important in a school with hundreds of children?" he replied sarcastically. "Professor Dumbledore simply said that your parents had requested your presence at home. Holidays are approaching, so it was a perfect excuse … and nobody questioned your leaving."

She clenched her fists under the table – was he talking about her friends? – and asked again, "You see, this afternoon I was trying to remember if-"

"No!" he exclaimed immediately. "You should not try to remember! Memories could slowly come back; it is better to avoid that kind of mental exertion."

"But…" she stared open-mouthed at him, holding a forkful of potato in mid-air.

"I said forget!" he replied furiously. "And I mean it!"

Then he brusquely pushed back his seat and got up.

"I'm finished!" he announced "And I'm very tired. Go to your room as soon as you have cleaned the kitchen. And try to be silent!"

He turned and stormed out of the room, leaving her overwhelmed with resentment. That was enough! She hadn't asked to be Obliviated and to stay in this horrid house with him! She wasn't his servant! If this was how things were going to be in the next days, well, she'd rather face the Dark Lord!

Hermione stood up and raced after him.

"One word, Professor!" she said. He turned to glare at her, then stopped and drew himself up, crossing his arms.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he hissed. His scowl was intimidating, and she could see the vein pulsing on his temple. Time froze while seconds slowly elapsed into eternity; then she lowered her head and sighed. No, she wasn't brave enough. Not this evening, at least.

"Good… good night, Professor," she whispered.

He didn't give the reply she expected; he just whirled back, crossed the living room and opened the door, burying himself in the darkness of his room. The click of the key sounded loudly in the silence.

A startling crack came from the fireplace, and the flames trembled, sketching grotesque shapes on the walls. She looked at the empty living room in desolation.

"Good night, Hermione," she murmured to herself.

* * *

_A warm hello to my readers! Comments are always welcome ;)_


	5. Wednesday - Day 4

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**Wednesday - Day 4 – Detention**

That morning, Hermione woke up just in time to hear Snape preparing to leave. It was very early, and the world outside looked dark and chilling. Suddenly she realized that her… _husband_ had to wake up at awful hours to arrive at Hogwarts before the beginning of the classes. And, reversing what he had done the day before, he was probably going to walk in the snow to a place far away from the house, in order to Disapparate safely and not betray their hideaway. Her heart twisted in sympathy. So early, so dark and so cold! The snow seemed to have increased in depth during the night and, for a moment, Hermione wondered where in the world the damned house was. This made her remember that she had something important to ask him, so she wrapped herself tightly in her dressing gown and ran to catch him before he left.

"Sir!" she panted, hurrying into the living room… and slipping shamefully on the floor. She landed just before him, and Snape couldn't avoid a surprised twitch of his upper lip. Then the usual cold mask appeared on his features again and he exclaimed sharply, "What's the meaning of this, Miss Granger? You should not leave your room when I'm here if you are not properly dressed!"

His lips twitched again while he made an effort to check his anger. Despite her confusion, she realised that he seemed about to say something like "Five points from Gryffindor!" and she suppressed a smile at his frustration.

The girl hastened to get up under his glowering gaze and said, "I assume you are going to Hogwarts?"

His eyes sparkled dangerously at her words, and Hermione immediately added in an apologetic voice, "Please, I only have a question… What am I supposed to do if something happens while I'm here alone?"

"Oh!" Snape said ironically, "A Gryffindor who's afraid to be alone! Don't worry, everything has been planned. In the very regrettable occurrence of such a situation, you are authorized to enter my room. There is a sealed envelope on my table. Open it and somebody will immediately Apparate here."

He stopped and glowered at her even more nastily.

"But remember: opening the envelope is something you must do only in case of real emergency. To do so will reveal this house and its position. All our efforts would be wasted. My cover would probably be destroyed. Our lives would be in permanent danger. Have I made myself clear, Miss Granger? Do you think you are Gryffindor enough to take the risk?"

She felt the urge to give him a sharp reply, perhaps even to slap his face. But she had been entrusted to his care. Since the day she had awakened in that horrid house, he had been risking his life to protect her in a dangerous game of continual deception. He had conceded to take on another duty in addition to the many heavy ones he had already on his shoulders. Those thoughts cooled her down and prevented her reaction while she considered him in silence. She couldn't ignore such a sacrifice only because he had a spiteful character… But the situation was turning every day more disagreeable, and she hoped that such undesirable bond could be broken as soon as possible.

In the meantime, controlling her nerves, she breathed deeply and said, "I suppose my answer isn't going to change your opinion. But yes, I wouldn't do anything that could ruin Professor Dumbledore's plans."

Snape snorted at her implicit provocation and opened the door. The wind was icy, and Hermione felt a cruel joy watching him sink in the snow and walk with increasing difficulty while she remained in the warm protection of the house. Especially since she had noticed that he was carrying a black bag, clearly containing rubbish. She had been wondering about how their waste was going to be handled. He was probably going to make it vanish somewhere out there. Well, he deserved that unpleasant task.

...

The day promised to be torture. Nothing to do except clean the kitchen; nothing to see that she hadn't already seen; nothing to read, not even her school texts… and then she suddenly remembered the books in her room. Old, damaged and probably boring… but better than watching the walls for hours on end.

Hermione went to check the shelves. There were five little books in paperback edition. Every one looked very used, but conserved with heartbreaking care. Somebody had treasured them dearly, reinforcing their covers and repairing their pages. Some sentences were underlined gently with a pencil. The books had evidently been read and re-read many times with consuming devotion. All the stories were classical love stories, titles that even Hermione knew because they had been quoted enthusiastically by her grandma.

She took the first one, wondering why those books - and particularly those - had been left there. Love stories… Perhaps as encouragement? She curled her mouth in disgust, but in the end curiosity won, and she opened the book. On the title page, a female hand had written three small characters in a nervous but graceful calligraphy: _E.P.S._

Those letters reminded her of something familiar, and Hermione stared in meditation. Then she took another book. This time, the page displayed a dedication in the uncertain handwriting of a child.

"_To Mum. Love. Severus_."

For an inexplicable reason, tears suddenly filled her eyes while she contemplated that touching relic of a past lost in sadness and never forgotten. So, Professor Snape had loved his mother. And probably he had kept the books to remember her… She touched the pages softly and tried to imagine what kind of child her impassive professor could have been.

...

Hours dragged on tediously while Hermione lost herself in the reading of the book. Darkness came insidiously again, but this time she was prepared. Before the old clock on the wall sounded 6 pm., the table was set, the fire was roaring merrily in the fireplace, and candles were shining everywhere. The little house was as radiant as if for a party.

She didn't know why she was doing all this, but she had the feeling that she needed to compensate him. For what? Well, once again, she didn't know, but she wanted to do something. Perhaps those love stories had softened her heart…

Outside it was snowing, and Hermione began to feel afraid when she noticed that the clock hands indicated now 6.25. It was late, and normally he was so punctual! What if something had happened?

She paced the living room nervously, chewing her lower lip. Then she opened the door carefully to take a quick glance outside. Far away, she perceived the shadowy shapes of unknown mountains, the twinkling lights of a little town hidden in their embrace and the headlights of miniature cars going down a winding road, all blurred by distance. Everything seemed so eerie and remote…

Then she saw him, a small figure proceeding painfully in that immense whiteness, his head proudly defying the wind and the snowflakes swirling around him. Again, he was carrying a heavy box in his arms, but his face was positively bluish and he looked extremely tired. She felt an odd pang of joy.

"Professor!" Hermione called, and Snape lifted his head in surprise. Two seconds later, she was out of the door. There was a porch over the main entrance: she noticed it absently while she carefully went down the few wooden stairs, covered with ice. The cold was stinging.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked as soon as she reached him. Snape scowled and didn't answer. Feeling suddenly young and clumsy, Hermione followed him up to the house, walking close to him and adjusting her pace to his. Snow was biting her legs cruelly, and their breath came out in shivering puffs at the same accelerated rhythm.

Finally, he looked at her with a frown. "I am not giving you points for this exhibition, Miss Granger! What is your purpose this evening? Playing the affectionate wife?"

Now, wasn't he good at ruining everything? She stiffened, and for a moment, a harsh reply threatened to escape her lips; then she remembered the books, and her heart softened again. She sighed.

"I was worried," she stated simply. Snape rolled his eyes in irritation, drawing back from her closeness. Carefully, they climbed the stairs while snowflakes whirled furiously around them. Hampered by the weight in his arms, he hesitated on the iced steps, and she put a hand on his arm to steady him.

He stiffened, snorted and tugged his arm free. "When did you decide you like me? I hope you are not taking our pretend marriage seriously."

Hermione shrugged inwardly. Well, he had never had a reputation for being nice. Perhaps he deserved the gloomy childhood those books were suggesting… Yet she couldn't avoid a twinge of compassion.

...

The house welcomed them in a warm embrace. Snape put down the pack, closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath, finally relaxing. His body was shaking, and Hermione felt worried again. He wasn't properly dressed to stay out in such a terrible weather! But before she could say anything, she noticed his eyes open and widen before the merry illumination. For a moment, he looked lost in childish surprise and she smiled at his astonished expression.

Then Snape darkened and whispered, "Do you want to waste our monthly reserve of candles in one night? Are you out of your mind? Who gave you permission to organize such a foolish demonstration?"

So much for her surprise… Well, she had tried and she had failed, and failed twice: her hope and her patience.

Wordlessly, Hermione made the tour of the hall and put out all the candles. Arms crossed, his cloak still hanging on his shoulders, he observed her sombrely. Soon the room was dim and gloomy again.

A resentful anger grew in her chest, and she turned to look at Snape. He nodded irately, then picked up the pack and followed her in the kitchen. But there too he saw that the table had been set with particular care, and he stopped in wonder. For a moment, he looked lost again and considered her with a worried expression. It was clear that he couldn't understand why she had done all that she had done, and his brain was furiously searching for explanations.

Hermione smiled serenely, recovering her calm. For a brief moment, Professor Snape had looked very human and exposed, even defenceless. Attention was clearly something he wasn't used to receiving. Perhaps she had found a chink in his armour. She made a promise to herself to use it.

...

Dinner wasn't as enjoyable as Hermione had hoped. The man before her was tired and nervous and definitely short-tempered, but she'd decided to avoid any pretext to quarrel, so she kept rigorously silent. After all, he wasn't so difficult to interpret when it came down to simple human relationships. If he wanted to make a game of it, she was willing to play along.

But even silence was unnerving him. Staring at her with his usual sarcastic expression, Snape abruptly declared, "Finally learning to control yourself, Miss Granger? Then perhaps we should think of something similar for your friends! Mr. Potter and his brainless sidekick, Mr. Weasley, would surely benefit from such lesson."

Hermione looked at him impassively, but an angry spark suddenly ignited in her chest. Silence fell again while Snape considered bitterly, "An arrogant brat without merit or virtue… Yet our world bows in admiration to Potter's nonexistent qualities! Without actually doing anything, he has been acclaimed a hero!"

Silence grew thicker.

"But Potter is too full of himself to understand how foolish he is! And Weasley! Just waiting to share his glory! Two splendid champions preparing to face the Dark Lord… with the irrelevant help of Albus Dumbledore, of course!" Snape spat.

Hermione raised her eyes. "Of course," she repeated coldly. "And you too are doing your best to help them, aren't you?"

His eyes sparkled. "Hold your tongue!"

"Or what?" she burst out, dropping her fork on the table with a sudden violent ting. "Are you going to give me a detention?"

"Miss Granger!" he warned, raising his voice meaningfully.

Something unexpectedly broke inside her. She felt rage growing uncontrollably and exclaimed, "Perhaps you haven't noticed, but this IS a detention! Every day is a detention! How are you going to make this even more horrible? I don't believe it's possible!"

Tears trickled down on her cheeks unpredictably and Hermione felt stupid, powerless and terribly childish again. But there was nothing that she could do. She covered her face with a sob and hurried to leave the room.

Snape immediately got up.

"Miss Granger! I'm not going to permit such behaviour!"

Shaking her head in denial, she ran to her room and locked the door, her heart beating violently in panic. What had she done? What had she done?! Answering with that tone! To one of her teachers! And to THAT teacher in particular! How could she?

"Miss Granger!" she heard his furious voice roaring outside while she clasped and unclasped her hands in desperation. "I expect your apologies… here and now!"

Hermione felt lost. He was her guardian. He was her protector. And she hated him so much for having accepted that task!

But she had no places to go, no choices to make and nobody else could take her because she was married to him, as he had said, and not even Professor Dumbledore could change that situation, as he was exactly the one who had trapped her there…

She gulped and lowered her head in defeat.

In the middle of the living room, Professor Snape waited, fuming with anger, arms crossed with a vindictive scowl.

With a trembling sob, Hermione turned the key and slowly opened the door.

* * *

_Thanks again to those reading and reviewing. I'm glad you like the story :)_


	6. Thursday - Day 5

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**Thursday - Day 5 – Cooking**

Hermione woke up with eyes reddened by the many tears she had shed. The previous evening had been one of the most humiliating of her life! She had sobbed her apologies and had been cruelly reproached. The night had been hell until dawn, when she had finally fallen asleep.

Professor Snape had surely left the house as always in the early morning, but she hadn't noticed, and he obviously hadn't cared to bid her good bye. She got up sniffling, and in deep self-pity, she went to the kitchen. Breakfast had always been helpful in overcoming her emotions. She ate a quantity of toast and butter, and after such a satisfying meal, she felt more and more relieved, elated at thinking that she was going to grow fat in a short time and her husband would probably make a request for divorce because of that.

Her good sense came back powerfully in warming waves. She had made a mistake, but she had also apologised. And they were NOT in school anymore. They were man and woman! They should discuss things on an equal basis! Wasn't a woman supposed to reply when challenged so irritatingly by her aggravating man?

Hermione stopped and looked at the wall in confusion. She wasn't really married… It was only a deception, a war ruse. The day the Dark Lord was conquered, she would go back to school and resume her studies… and perhaps be Obliviated again, to forget this absurd episode!?

She was not a puppet! She was a fighter and she wanted to fight!

Wind howled like a wolf outside the door, and she suddenly shivered. The situation was growing tougher every day. Staying alone in that house was subtly corroding her nerves, yet there was nothing she could do except grit her teeth and carry on.

She took a deep breath, trying to check her growing anxiety. She needed to busy herself with something or her head would soon explode. So, she went back to her room and checked the travelling bag near her bed. There were two or three pockets she hadn't opened yet, and in one of them she found her knitting set. She bent to take out the needles and a ball of yarn. A multitude of memories gathered immediately in her mind, and for a long, long moment, she stared at the objects in her hand, feeling the warmth of the wool in her fingers. Yes, she could sit and knit something. But to what purpose?

She closed her eyes, fighting against tears. At Hogwarts, that job had had a meaning, and a joyful one. Here, the prospect was to work in a haunting silence while grim thoughts would slowly invade her mind, flowing uncontrollably. She shook her head and finally put back the things, burying them in the bag's pocket again. No, she didn't want to think, but she desperately needed to forget the world and her situation for a while. So, she raised her eyes to the bookshelf and decided to sink into the second of those syrupy but comforting love stories.

The day passed with exasperating slowness. Two or three times, Hermione found herself actually speaking to the refrigerator or to the bookshelf. Finally, she sat on her bed, dropping her face in her hands. This house was hell, this situation was hell, and she would do anything to escape. Anything! She could never have imagined that being alone could be such torture: alone and with nothing to do except setting the table for her severe companion. And, unfortunately, unpleasant as he was, Professor Snape was her only connection to the world and real life.

Professor Dumbledore could never have envisaged the collateral effects of his scheming. It couldn't have worked better if he had planned it on purpose…

By five o'clock in the afternoon, she was desperately longing for Professor Snape's arrival. Perhaps in his youth, Professor Dumbledore had worked for a wedding agency…

…

The house was ready in its austere illumination. The table was set with careful, but not excessive detail, otherwise he might think that she was trying to please and placate him. He would probably see it as an admission of guilt, and she wanted to start over again. She had failed, she had paid.

She had noticed that he had preferences in the positioning of the things. He liked to have bottles at his side and not in front of him, for instance. He preferred to drink water, sipping a glass of wine only at the end of the meal. He had brought a bottle of Firewhisky, but he never offered it to her, and hastened to lock it in his room immediately after dinner. _To avoid temptations_, she told herself, and chuckled nervously. Then, what else? She tried to remember. He had a particular predilection for a fork and a knife that seemed very old and used. Twice he had appositely got up during their dinners to replace with them the better looking cutlery that Hermione had set out for him.

So she checked the drawers to find them and laid them near his dish. Then she changed his napkin, which was crumpled and stained. Finally, she reordered the kitchen and sat on a chair, keeping her gaze fixed on the clock. The hands were moving so slowly! Another twenty minutes, at least, before his arrival…

The clock ticked monotonously; after a few moments, she couldn't resist any longer and abruptly rose. Was she reduced to this? Cleaning the house, washing dishes and setting the table while waiting for an irritable man, exactly like a 19th century woman? No, she was wrong… A 19th century woman would probably be freer than she was, because at least a 19th century woman would be allowed to go out of the house to take care of the poultry! Was this what her studies and cleverness had reserved for her? Couldn't she possibly do something better, something more appropriate to help her friends? After all, she had a brain, she thought ferociously, even if the cause of her troubles was hidden precisely in her grey cells. Again, that persisting question insinuated its ugly head into her mind. WHAT was concealed inside her? And WHY was it so important?

She shook her head in desolation and decided to take a quick glance at the exterior. The wind was chilly, and she startled as soon as she had opened the door, but not because of the cold. A black figure had unexpectedly appeared. Professor Snape had been caught in the act of turning the doorknob, and both the man and the girl were now staring at each other with widened eyes.

As always, Snape was quicker to react.

"Going out for a walk, Miss Granger? The weather is so inviting…" he remarked in cold sarcasm. Then he darkened in suspicion. "What were you doing behind the door?"

For a moment, Hermione thought that it sounded like jealousy, and felt strangely amused. But, naturally, she was wrong. Voice silky in malice, the dark wizard continued his speech while entering the room. "Let me guess! Of course, you were waiting for me! Worried as yesterday? Or simply hoping that the snowstorm could be abundant enough to bury me under a white mantle?"

_How poetic! And how effectively desirable at the moment!_ She thought bitterly. But the only words that came to her lips were, "Table is ready for dinner."

He looked at her in astonishment, then replied even more sarcastically, "I see we are hungry… that is the main reason to hope for my return, isn't it?"

He took off his cloak and she suddenly noticed that he wasn't carrying any parcels that evening, but a plastic bag with the name of a famous supermarket. She looked at him in confusion, and he had a tired smile.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. Professor Dumbledore thinks that, being magic, even food coming from Hogwarts could supply a trace to our enemies, even though it is cooked miles away from here."

Understanding the implicit meaning, she gasped in panic, and he added slowly, looking incredibly weary, "I'm afraid we will have to rely on your cooking skills tonight… I hope you will be up to the task."

Dinner was a disaster.


	7. Friday - Day 6

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_Disclaimer:__This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_As always, thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Friday - Day 6 - Cooking Again**

That morning, Hermione didn't get up when she heard him pacing in the living room, preparing for his uncomfortable trip. She refused to leave her bed, saddened and angered at the same time for the pathetic uselessness of her efforts. The man was impossible, the situation was absurd, and her only desire was to go back and possibly confront the Dark Lord himself, face to face. Surely, her powerful enemy would be easier to handle or to forecast than her insufferable professor! At least, she would not be forced to suffer Voldemort's sarcastic comments for more than two minutes. Then, a green flash and… and…

She buried her face in the pillow and gave a little sob. No, no, this wasn't what she wanted! Too many lives were at stake at the moment. Her friends, the magical world, the poor Muggles unaware of the danger coming – and amongst them there were also her parents!

Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have asked such a sacrifice of her if it were not necessary. Professor Dumbledore wanted to protect her…

Although the dear old man could have chosen somebody else as her guardian!

Why not Remus Lupin, for instance? Ah, yes, he was a werewolf and a reject. Too dangerous, perhaps. Then why not… why not who? The choice was incredibly restricted. Who else, apart from Snape, could count on such a perfect cover? Who else would be able to deceive the Dark Lord if the evil wizard had tried to scan their minds? No, it had to be Snape or nobody. She sighed and wiped a tear, trying to focus her thoughts.

What the hell had gone wrong yesterday? Why had the stupid food refused to cooperate? Cooking shouldn't be more difficult than brewing a potion! Yet yesterday's result had raised a look of horror from her teacher and a desolate reaction from the hungry, exhausted man he was.

"That's the most abominable stuff I have ever been offered!" he had growled. Then, after only a few morsels, he had pushed the dish away and looked at her with eyes that wanted to be insolent, but that, once more, reflected an immense weariness.

"I am going to rest. Feel free to do what you prefer with my portion," his only dry comment had been. No shouting, no sarcasm, no anger. But it had hurt in an intolerable way.

So, stubborn and proud as she was, her mind was already buzzing with a multitude of ideas. She wanted to show him that she could also be a good cook. Her skills weren't limited only to books and homework! Her brain could easily conceive a recipe!

But in the meantime, her heart was aching so much for the disappointment she had seen in his eyes. Poor man! So exhausted, so hungry, yet so incredibly controlled! She simply MUST find something good to cook that evening! But what?

Now, that was an interesting question. She just had no idea. As always, she tried to make her mental gears move by reading something. The third of those saccharine love stories was waiting for her on the bookshelf, and she distractedly picked it up, chewing her lower lip in meditation. Then her gaze fell upon something that was displayed in front of her, and her heart skipped a beat with an incredulous thrill: "The Joy of Cooking the Muggle Way", by I.T.S. Good.

A recipe book! A recipe book disguised under the cover of a romantic novel! Hermione almost danced with happiness, not believing her luck. She immediately turned the pages, quickly glancing over the text in the hope of finding something easy and yummy. And there it was: _Sev's favourite_, the nervous handwriting of 'his' mother had written. She could have kissed the book. And with it - though she didn't know why - Professor Dumbledore.

...

Evening arrived in a blur of excitement. The dish was exactly what she had hoped, and she had been able to prepare it using only the leftovers. She brightened, imagining his joy. Finally, finally, FINALLY! She simply couldn't wait!

And – finally! - HE arrived. Exhausted, cold and brooding as always, snowflakes whitening his dark hair, eyes reddened from the walk in the wind, and a bluish face. A cocktail of colours.

_Merlin_! She thought with concern. _This way he was going to catch a powerful flu! _Gingerly, as she didn't want to ruin the dinner from the very start, she went to help him with the supermarket bags. Again, their fingers met, and his were stiff and frozen. Despair was trembling in his eyes. Hungry and tired as he was, the idea of another horrible meal was clearly intolerable.

The cloak was hung, the bags taken in charge – how heavy this time! – and she guided him triumphantly to the kitchen - so comfortable, so warm, so nicely set - struggling to hide a grin. He dropped himself in his favourite chair, then he looked around and raised his head, sniffing the pleasant aroma. She waited in anguish. _Please, please, please_… her mind prayed in silence.

"Miss Granger!" the tone mixed doubt and hope, with a slight prevalence of hope. "Would it be possible that tonight you have been able to cook something edible for a wizard?"

"I don't know, Professor," she answered, trying to keep a steady face while her heart was racing like a galloping horse. "I suggest you try it."

He straightened on his chair, his eyes suddenly menacing. But she prevented any other possible reaction by placing a smoking plate before him. He hesitated and tried to say something, but hunger had somehow dried his sarcasm. Ceding to desire, he dug the fork into that tempting, delicious, celestial answer to his empty stomach.

...

Hermione's mum was used to judging the results of her cooking by the time - and the noise - needed to consume it. This time, she would have been greatly rewarded. Professor Snape ate his portion in perfect silence, speaking only to ask if there was more left. His eyes had a relaxed, absent-minded expression, and he looked like he was a bit drunk. Hermione respected his laconism, smiling inwardly. He reacted only at the end, as if he were awakening from a dream.

"That was really… unexpected," he acknowledged. "How did you do it?"

Feeling a warm stream flowing in her veins, she began to explain the various steps, a joyful twinkle in her eyes. He listened intently but soon his expression seemed to change and darken more and more, as the explanation went on.

"Where did you get this recipe?" he finally asked in a hiss.

_Oh no!_ She thought in desperation. _Oh dear, NO!_ _Not after such a brilliant result! What had happened and why?_

She tried to make up an answer.

"Well, my mother used to prepare this when I was a…"

"LIAR!" he roared. _Why was he so upset?_ "You used an ingredient that is never employed in the usual preparation. Who told you this recipe? Where did you find it?"

Terrified, she backed against the door, searching for support. Her knees went suddenly weak while her heart was racing with fear; she stammered, "I… I found it in a book."

His eyes narrowed, and she hurried to add, "The bookshelf… in my room…" Her mouth and tongue seemed to have pasted together._ Why was he so angry? What had she done?_

He rose violently from his chair and walked in a storm to her room. Hermione looked in panic while he entered without asking permission and went straight to the bookshelf. A slight hesitation, like a little shudder, then his hand picked up the little romance.

"Is this the book? IS THIS it?" he growled, and Hermione nodded frantically. He looked at the little volume as if he had found a long lost treasure, then he tightened it against his chest and said in a deadly timbre, "Don't – do you understand me? – don't you ever dare touch this book again!"

He left in a fury and entered his room, slamming the door close after him. Hermione waited for a few minutes, uncertain if feeling saddened or relieved. Then her fists clenched in anger. No, she was NOT going to cry. Yes, he was an ungrateful bastard. And yes again, Professor Dumbledore was a headless planner if he had left those books there on purpose.

_What the hell did those two damn men want from her?!_

She realized that she must have yelled that last question to the ceiling. Professor Snape must have heard it…

Oh well! She no longer cared! She clenched her fists again. Enough! If they wanted to ruin her existence, then she would repay them with the same money. From now on, it was open war. And an end to compassion and gentle, merciful feelings!

She inhaled deeply. Then she went back to clean up the kitchen.

* * *

_**Answer to a question:** _

_As I wrote in the opening explanation, this story is in form of a diary. I have tried to make it as believable as possible, therefore it follows the rhythms that real life has. But don't worry, the situation and these two particular characters will alter this placid pace..._


	8. Saturday - Day 7

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to all my readers and reviewers._

**Saturday - Day 7 - Lions in a Cage**

Morning rose snowy and quiet.

_Too quiet!_ She thought, awakening with a startle. How was it possible that she hadn't heard him leaving? Her internal clock was usually set to his rhythms… at least, for the malignant pleasure of curling under the blankets while he faced the snow and the chilly wind.

So, what had happened today? Could he possibly be still sleeping? Perhaps feeling bad? She wondered if that were the case whether she should knock at his door… In her anxiety, she finally got up, donned her warm, flower-patterned dressing gown over her pink pyjamas and went to the kitchen, just in time to find him emerging from the bathroom, wearing a greyish nightshirt under a worn out dressing gown, the original colour of which had faded into an indistinct shade. He froze with embarrassment while, eyebrows raised, she considered him in silence; then she calmly said, "Good morning, sir. On holiday today?"

He frowned and replied, crossing his arms, "I thought you knew how to count the days of the week. Today is Saturday, and unfortunately, there are no lessons at Hogwarts. Therefore, Professor Dumbledore asked me to stay here."

_Oh! That was why the supermarket bags were so heavy!_ _Food for two days_, she thought. Then another shocking realisation hit her. Saturday! Two whole days with him in that small house, as suffocating as a prison. She sighed inwardly, but her expression betrayed her emotions, and he snorted.

"As I told you at the beginning, the feeling is mutual. Anyway, I have a lot to do, so don't worry. I will stay in my room. I hope you won't need my assistance."

"As you like it, Professor," she replied politely, tilting her head as if she wanted to get a better look at him. He hadn't shaved yet; so, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze, he instinctively passed a hand over the dark little hair on his chin. Then he caught her expression. There was the hint of a smile trembling on her lips, and he reacted in exasperation.

"I think I warned you about going around not properly dressed," he growled, but she was feeling an advantage now.

"Well, as you said before, the remark is mutual. What about you?" She caught the menacing spark in his eyes and firmly added, "However, I suppose I am sufficiently dressed to have breakfast. I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well. I need to eat something."

Wrong-footed, he hesitated, then moved to leave her space. With a dignified look, she entered the kitchen and closed the door, leaving him out. Oh! Finally alone! And effectively hungry.

With fresh confidence, she began to prepare her usual appetizing breakfast. Eggs, bacon, bread, butter, marmalade… in a few minutes, a delicious fragrance had invaded the tiny house, going straight to tickle Professor Snape's nostrils. She could hear him wandering in indecision in the living room, undoubtedly struggling with his pride.

But finally, the doorknob rotated and there he was, a severe yet embarrassed expression, arms folded in a defensive way, belt tightened around his scrupulously closed dressing gown. Hermione turned to look at the oven with exaggerated attention, hiding a smile.

"Miss Granger…" he began uncertainly and, as the day before, she silenced him by placing a fragrant dish on the table.

"Right on time," she commented soberly. She had been tempted to add "And this time, I haven't copied my homework," but she resolved to let it go.

He was baffled, and uselessly tried to find a suitable reply; then he sat, picked up his fork and began to eat. She quickly prepared a second portion, happy to see that he was slowing down his initially rapid pace to wait for her. Perhaps the day would transform into something bearable…

They ate in silence, savouring the food, sipping the hot tea, and systematically avoiding each other's gaze. If he had had a newspaper to read, he would have looked like the typical husband in a magazine strip. She felt a strange emotion. After all, they were married, and they effectively looked like an average couple having breakfast together. The only irrelevant difference was that they were not enjoying the situation…

He finished his tea, put the cup on the saucer with unnecessary attention, and said just one word. "Satisfactory".

_Well_, she thought, nodding in response, _what_ _a subtle way to apologise_!

Silence fell for a long moment. Then he rose and left, saying briefly, "Now, if you would excuse me, Miss Granger…"

...

Hours passed slowly. They were both very careful not to disturb each other. He locked himself in his room for the whole morning, and she tried to find herself something to do. Once, pretending to clean up the living room, she passed in front of his sanctuary while he was in the kitchen to get something to drink. The door was open, and she glanced inside with curiosity.

His room was even more austere than hers. A table, a chair, a bed and a wardrobe, all in dark mahogany wood. There were inkbottles and quills, plus a remarkable amount of parchments distributed all over his table in ordered piles. But she could not watch for long as he was already back, looking suspiciously at her. She retreated immediately, eyes down in meekness, while he closed the door with a sharp bang.

The rest of the morning dragged itself in tediousness. Hermione went to her room to read one of the remaining novels, just to do something. But nervousness soon bit her stomach and interrupted her reading. So, she tried to busy her hands and took out her knitting set, just to discover that there was no joy in a meaningless procession of stitches if there wasn't a project behind it. Boredom was particularly difficult to tolerate when there was another human being so near… and so far at the same time!

Sometimes she thought of when she would be back home. How many amusing things she could tell her friends about Professor Snape! But, naturally, she would be Obliviated… if she survived, of course. Again, she stared at the walls, with that so very important question burning like a flame in the darkness of her solitude: what was she carrying in her mind, and why was it so precious?

...

They met again for lunch. Professor Snape was hungry and impatient. Used as he was to Hogwart's rich menus, he curled his lips in contempt at the sandwiches she had prepared.

"That's all, Miss Granger?" he asked with an eloquent grimace. "You really have no idea how to feed a man properly."

She had many possible snappy answers ready in her mind, but she kept silent with a huge effort. He was pushing the situation, his frustration searching for a target. Now, what was the best way to react? His dark sardonic eyes were looking at her challengingly, and she resolved to keep silent. She knew that a lack of resistance would soon drive him to exasperation, but at least, he would have no reasons to accuse her of disrespect.

Trying to offer him a diversion, she opened the refrigerator and took out a chocolate cake, dividing it in eight big slices. His gaze considered them for a moment, then he commented sharply, "You are going to get fat very quickly with such portions. Is this part of a new strategy to deceive the Dark Lord?"

This time she couldn't resist and replied ferociously, "Yes, I plan to fatten up and become unrecognisable, so I will be able to leave this house and go back to my home where people are kind and polite, and don't ask silly questions just for the pleasure of asking them."

Their eyes met, and she understood that he had no more power over her, except his authority as an adult. Even better, she understood that he too was experiencing her same perception. They were no longer in school. He could not take points from Gryffindor neither could he give her bad marks. He could not threaten her with detentions nor assign her an additional dose of homework. They were finally on an equal basis: man and woman, linked by the same task.

And yet, these same considerations somehow mitigated her anger. In spite of his harsh character, he was the one in charge of her protection, the one to whom her survival was committed. And, pleasantly or unpleasantly, he was doing his best, risking his life. This final thought flashed and disappeared like a firework in the black fury of her mind, and she suddenly felt hopeless. There was no escape. They were both doomed to stay together, until Voldemort had been conquered.

With these thoughts whirling in her head, she looked at him with such pain in her eyes that he refrained to say the sharp words that threatened to blurt out in anger.

Tears glittered in her eyes, but remained there while she murmured in a low voice, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. But please consider my situation. I am buried in this house while I would like to be of help. Why don't you allow me to do something more than just sit and despair?"

He clenched his fists, trying to check his irritation, and replied coldly, "Try to act as an adult then, if you want to be considered such, and not like a spoiled child."

Again, her eyes bored into his with disarming sincerity.

"Then please help me. It's difficult for both of us, but for me it's getting tougher everyday. I'm not used to inaction."

He slowly considered her in silence, and she returned his gaze as bravely as she could. Finally, he inhaled deeply and shook his head.

"This situation can't go on like this. I will speak with Professor Dumbledore next Monday."

This said, he rose and left the kitchen, leaving her in sad disappointment. Her words hadn't evidently been accepted…

...

Afternoon passed in a gloomy atmosphere. He was working on marking the parchments, she was getting desperate at having nothing to do… And dinnertime was arriving so quickly! What would she prepare? She didn't dare to ask him his preferences.

Eventually, she entered the kitchen, indecision, depression and a hint of panic mixing coldly in her stomach. She opened the refrigerator and looked at the many things stocked inside. Then she examined the assorted mix of packages and cans on the shelves, trying to imagine the best way to combine them into something good to eat. Her brain was working so hard that she expected to see steam emitting from her ears. Then she took a deep, deep breath.

"It's that or nothing!" she announced determinedly to the oven.

...

Professor Snape sat at the table, considering the meal she had prepared: same dish as the evening before. He raised his head to look at her and said slowly, a menacing thunder rolling in his voice, "A bit repetitive, don't you think?"

His tone let her clearly understand that anger was building up when he added, "I thought I had warned you about using that book."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened her arms and placed her hands palm up on the tablecloth as if offering herself in sacrifice.

"You are right. But you warned me about using that book, not that recipe. And you see, that recipe happens to be the only one I know that you like for sure. I want to help, Professor, even if it means only preparing dinner for you while you are here. But I don't know how to do it… unless you help me."

He stared at her in silence, with crossed arms. She looked back for a moment, then lowered her head in defeat, feeling young, young and miserable.

Then his voice spoke again, this time strangely controlled.

"Well, then I suppose that we can eat what you've prepared. After all, it's food and it's ready. It would be useless to waste it."

She lifted her head immediately, hope invading her heart. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but was eating his share calmly, eyes concentrated on the dish. The rest of the dinner passed in an unnatural silence, the only sounds a composed request for another portion followed by an equally composed answer.

As soon as he had finished, he rose from his chair and left again to return to his room, a little nod as a thank you. She cleaned up the kitchen, her mind floating in the placid sea of resignation. She had tried, she had failed. She evidently wasn't as good as she had thought she was. Her pride had been burnt into ashes, yet she was feeling strangely relieved. She washed the dishes, lost in a dreamy haze.

When she went back to her room, she found the old recipe book carefully placed on her bed.


	9. Sunday - Day 8

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Sunday - Day 8 - Armistice**

Sunday announced itself with a snowstorm. The wind howled and the snowflakes whirled, falling down in merry carousels. The little house seemed to sink slowly under a white mantle. Even the idea of opening the door was chilling - in all senses.

Enjoying the warmth of the kitchen, Hermione felt relieved that Professor Snape did not have to go out in that hellish weather. Sipping a delicious hot chocolate, she contemplated the fury of the elements through the window. Her mind was still analysing the emotions and the implications hidden in the finding of the recipe book on her bed. Professor Snape had looked very possessive about that volume. So, why had he returned it? Was it an offer of peace? An armistice?

With a very slow movement, she turned her head to look surreptitiously at the man who was taking more and more room in her life.

Sitting at the table, Professor Snape was busy devouring eggs and bacon, a pile of toast waiting at his side. Hermione watched him over the rim of her mug, hiding behind its round shape the quiet smile that was forming on her lips. She was bizarrely happy to see him enjoying his breakfast so much. Yes, he needed to be fed, and abundantly. He was so thin! How could he undergo his many tasks - and some of them were so heavy! - with such a slim constitution?

As if feeling her gaze, he raised two suspicious eyes while his harsh voice brought her immediately back to earth.

"Did you put something poisonous in these eggs?" he glared.

"No, sir," she hurried to reply, suddenly in a panic.

He smiled ironically, and she understood that she had been caught in his trap as always. She waited for a sarcastic comment to come, but he only added, "Well, then why don't you eat? It's snowing. You need to feed yourself if you want to stay warm."

This said, he seemed to forget her and dedicated himself to writing notes on a parchment. She felt unexpectedly moved. It was the first time that he had voiced such friendly feelings. But perhaps he was only worried at the possibility that she could get ill… Who would cure her in that case? She shivered at the idea but, at the same time, she noticed that he was looking strangely relaxed. Perhaps because they had both slept longer than usual that morning; or perhaps because today they were both carefully dressed. And washed. And shaved… those who needed to.

Whatever the reason, Hermione obediently sat at the table and began to eat, hoping to keep him in a good mood. And while she ate, she desperately tried to find something to say. She needed so much to exchange some words with somebody that was not a shelf or a stool! And possibly about something that wasn't only food.

Finally, she ventured, "How are things going at Hogwarts these days, Professor?"

He raised an eyebrow and considered her coldly, before answering, "Missing your daily dose of praise, Miss Granger? Or simply longing to know what wonders your friends are up to?"

His lip curled in that sardonic smile she hated so much, and she silently regretted her clumsy choice of topic. As if perceiving her uneasiness, he cast her a meaningful glance and added ironically, "Don't worry. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are performing their usual repertoire of foolish, pathetic tricks… But Professor Dumbledore has evidently sworn to keep his eyes closed, so I won't be given the satisfaction of seeing them punished as they deserve."

He put down his quill and interlaced his fingers in meditation. "However, the one I really don't understand is Professor McGonagall… but probably, at her age she must have developed a maternal penchant for young idiots with despicable tendencies. You know, that impulse for redemption that all women have in their…"

He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in an expression of pain so intense that Hermione instinctively raised her hand as if to reach him… but withdrew at the last moment, scared of a possible angry reaction. He inhaled deeply and slowly, blinking as if struggling with tears, then he violently rose from his chair, pushing back the table in his movement and making cups and saucers ting in acute protest.

Although unnerved by the evident alteration of his features, Hermione dared to ask, "Sir! Are you feeling well?"

He clenched his fists and replied sharply, "I'll be alright. Just leave me alone!"

Then he went to the door, crossed the living room in a fury, and locked himself in his room. Hermione stared speechless, then lowered her head at the eggs and bacon that in the meantime had become cold and wrinkled - an uninviting sight, even for her empty stomach. In a fit of anger, she too pushed back her plate, then crossed her arms on the table and placed her head over them in discomfort. What had happened now? Why had he reacted that way, and at his own words furthermore? This was an impossible situation! It was like living near a volcano constantly ready to explode.

She sighed. She would never understand that man. Never!

She stared at the mess on the table and sighed again. Better do something to forget her troubles. Reluctantly, she rose and began to clean up the kitchen.

Her task. Her most important task in that horrid house.

…

When everything was ready, Hermione again felt a compelling urge to speak with that strange, inaccessible man, buried in his room like a wild animal in its lair. There should be a way to communicate with him! And if she could find that way, how much both their lives would improve! Perhaps she could try to reach him through the common ground of their studies…

Determinedly, she went to his door, and before fear could stop her, she knocked lightly.

"I believe I said very clearly that I didn't want to be disturbed!" his irritated voice replied.

"Well, I was thinking that perhaps I could help you," she offered.

"What do you mean, _help_ _me_?!"

_Even more irritated, _she thought with a shiver. She steadied her voice. "Why don't you open the door? We could speak better."

There was a moment of silence, then she could hear him rise violently and stride towards the door. Fear clenched her stomach, but it was too late for second thoughts.

He opened the door. "Well?" he asked with an ominous scowl.

"I… I was wondering if perhaps there is something I could do to help you. I don't know, writing, researching…?"

She sounded pathetic even to her own ears, and words dried in her throat, strangling her. He gave her a scornful look.

"Still the best in the class, even here? Do you want to be congratulated by the only available teacher? Are you looking for more points for Gryffindor? Or would you like to mark assignments just for the pleasure of feeling superior?"

She had a desperate prayer in her eyes.

"Please!" she begged. "I'm feeling so… so _useless_!"

He considered her for what seemed an endless time.

"Thankfully, tomorrow I'll be at Hogwarts again", he murmured, but somehow his tone had become less hostile now.

"Very well," he finally said dryly. "I have something for you."

He went to his table, took a heavy book and presented it to her.

"I need to catalogue the potions described in this book."

She listened intently while he explained how the job should be done. The task was dull and tedious, and implied a lot of copying, but it was surely better than reading romances or staring at the walls. He finished his account with an ironic question. "Do you still wish to do it?"

"Thank you, Professor!" she exclaimed eagerly, and preventing any other possible reaction, she grabbed the book. He looked baffled for a moment, then shook his head and sighed in comical resignation, "How could I doubt?"

…

While doing that boring research, Hermione had the sudden idea that the task was only a trick to keep her busy and out of his way. But it was such a welcome diversion after all these monotonous days! Three hours passed in that uninspiring work, yet she became so engaged with it that she reacted with surprise when she heard him call her name.

"Time to eat something, don't you think?" he asked, and once more, she felt irritated with him. Hadn't that damn man got hands and wits of his own? Why should she be the only one cooking and cleaning? Furthermore, her cooking skills hadn't improved in the meantime. Yes, she had a book to consult now, but which of those many recipes could she choose to prepare? Reluctant to leave her desk, she finally resolved to go and, while passing in front of his room, she took a sudden decision and knocked at his door.

"Would sandwiches do, Professor?" she asked hopefully.

This time his answer took a bit longer to arrive. In a cold tone, he replied, "I didn't give you back that book to eat sandwiches."

"But it's too late to cook a proper meal!" she tried to protest.

"Such a spoiled child!" he replied, half patronizing, half irritated. "Can't you prepare sausage and mash? It will only take you ten minutes!"

"Oh! Ah… of course, Professor…" she replied embarrassed, then she took a quick look at the book and smiled. Yes, it was easy, and she could also use one of the many tins of baked beans to complete the meal. Her smile widened in a grin.

It took her more than ten minutes, but when she called him, she was feeling calm again, and there was a pleasant smell in the kitchen. He arrived and exclaimed with his usual condescending expression. "You see? Not so difficult, was it? I bet you never spent a day of your life in your mother's kitchen, did you?"

She blushed. "Well, not exactly…" she admitted, "But I was very young when I left my home. However, I have learnt some magical recipes from Mrs. Weasley."

"The only magic she can perform really well!" he replied disdainfully, looking at her dish with curiosity. "What are you doing there?" he finally couldn't help asking. Hermione, who was putting ketchup and mustard on her sausages, smiled inwardly.

"Oh, just preparing a special dressing. Would you like to try, Professor?"

He hesitated for only an instant, then he said, "Why not? Let's experiment."

This time she smiled openly, handing him the bottles.

...

Afternoon passed quietly while they were both closed up in their rooms, busy with their work.

Well, "her" door stayed effectively open. She didn't like being cut off so drastically from the rest of the world, even though, in her case, the world was represented by the little muffled noises of quills scratching and pages turning that came from "his" room. During those hours, she had had the strong sensation of being back in the Hogwarts library: same quietness, same concentration, same smell of mould emanating from the big volume on her desk while she carefully examined the different potions described in its pages. Soon several of the parchments she had been given were totally covered by her precise handwriting. Although the work of searching was boring, the organization of the information was fascinating. She had to decide how to divide and where to position each potion. Soon she lost herself in diagrams and calculations.

At around five, he seemed to awaken. He opened his door and called, "Still busy, Miss Granger? I would suggest you begin focusing on our dinner during the next hours."

She blinked abruptly back to reality, and saw him coming towards her. He seemed amazed at the quantity of parchments surrounding her. With a smooth, quick movement – _like a black cat_, she thought still in haze – he picked up some of them.

"That's perfect." His tone was indubitably impressed, and she felt a warm wave of pride running through her veins. Then he smiled ironically. "However, I'm sorry. No points for Gryffindor, and I'm sure you understand why."

The words blurted out before she could stop them. "I don't care. I'm glad I could help you."

He stiffened in surprise but she didn't notice, as she was rubbing her face in tiredness. Then she rose and began to move towards the kitchen. He watched her pensively.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Sir?" she asked uncertainly.

"Try page 23. It's an easy recipe, and very tasty if correctly executed."

She widened her eyes in astonishment, but didn't question him further.

...

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly. The recipe on page 23 turned out to be a vegetable soup, which she followed with grilled steaks, potatoes and carrots, and the last slices of the chocolate cake. Professor Snape ate everything without commenting, a behaviour that she had begun to consider his best compliment. Encouraged by his relaxed mood, she eventually asked, "You seem to know those recipes very well, Professor."

"I do. I personally bought that book for my mother."

"_Be careful!_ "She warned herself at his reply. Then she tried to find out more by using the old trick of asking and answering at the same time.

"I suppose your mother was a good cook. My mother has always-"

"No," he replied firmly, interrupting her as he explained briefly, "My mother didn't know how to cook without magic. But my father was a Muggle, and he hated all that was related to the wizarding world. So, in order to please him, I bought that book, hoping to help my mother. Many times, when I was home from school, I used to choose and read recipes for her."

"Oh…" Hermione exhaled feebly, not knowing how to handle this declaration. Then she decided to ask.

"I thought that… that you were angry with me because the book was a dear memory…" she murmured, and lowered her head waiting for a storm to burst.

But, surprisingly, he only gave a short, harsh laugh.

"You were wrong. In any case, it would be an unpleasant memory. I detest that book and the reminiscences it brings, Miss Granger."

She jerked her head up to look at him.

"Then why were you so angry with me yesterday?" she asked, forgetting all her fears in her anxiety to know.

He picked up his fork again and dug it into his slice of cake.

"Because my mother never learnt to cook the Muggle way. But the cunning author of the book had anticipated this sort of reaction from his magical readers, so he placed a final section for the less skilled of them. It contains twelve pages of Non Verbal spells, with which you can reproduce every recipe exactly."

"I… I still don't understand," she murmured uncertainly.

"You don't?" he smiled, sad and ironic at the same time. "How astonishing for a brain like yours, Miss Granger! Non Verbal spells, yet still spells. I simply wanted to make sure that you didn't involuntarily use one of them... and blow our cover."

With a quick gesture, he took the book and opened it at the end, where there was the unmistakable sign that some pages had been ripped.

"Now you can use the book or destroy it, as you like," he said and handed her back the little volume. Hermione took it and considered it with saddened eyes. A mixture of confused emotions was filling her heart, and she unexpectedly felt an immense compassion for the man sitting in front of her.

She looked at him again and, strangely, this time his eyes met hers and turned away, as if he had perceived her thoughts. For the very first time, Professor Snape had allowed a glimpse of himself to be uncovered.

"Thank you, Professor," she whispered.

"You are welcome, Miss Granger," he replied quietly.


	10. Monday - Day 9

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Monday - Day 9 – Questions**

That Monday morning, Hermione woke up early and listened to the muffled noises outside her door. She felt divided: a part of her soul was enjoying the idea of finally relaxing, alone in the house, with no cooking anguishes and no erupting volcanoes to keep at bay. Another part was aching for exactly the same reason. Professor Snape was her bridge with other beings and the normal life she missed so much. Although his manners were harsh, he was still a speaking, interacting human being. And much more interesting than a book.

Silently, she got up and put on her heavy dressing gown. The house was so chillingly cold in those early hours! The wind was howling, and she imagined how freezing it must be outside. A sudden shiver shook her violently, and she hurried to open her door and enter the living room.

Professor Snape was fully dressed and busy with his books and an unpleasant package: a black plastic bag full of rubbish. She felt immediately uneasy. He hated to be discovered engaged in those humiliating Muggle tasks… but it was too late. He had seen her.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he nodded, going back to the table where his books were piled and beginning to insert them in another plastic bag, this time using a supermarket brand one. "I would have thought that this was the perfect morning to stay in bed till late. Having nightmares? Or just wanting to make sure that I leave?"

He pointed to the objects scattered on top of the table and lying at his feet, adding with his sarcastic tone, "Well, you can relax, because I am indeed leaving."

"No, I wasn't… I… well, good morning, Professor," she replied awkwardly, saddened at his reaction. "I was only wondering if I could help you."

"Again?" His lips curled in a bizarre smile. "Missing your secret helper's role? Now that your brainless friends aren't available to be wearied, you need to seek new victims to inflict yourself on."

She felt a hot wave of redness burn her cheeks. But mostly, she felt an immense sensation of defeat tighten her heart. He was behaving as if yesterday had never happened. Even worse, he was behaving as if he had closed himself behind a wall again, refusing to acknowledge what had happened. She sighed and lowered her head.

"In that case, Professor," she whispered, "I will see you this afternoon. I wish you a good day."

She waited a moment, then turned her back to him and began to move towards her room. Behind her, the ironic voice spoke again.

"I'd suggest going to bed and sleeping, Miss Granger. It's the best thing you can do on a day like this."

She closed the door, shutting him out of her world.

...

As always, the day seemed to be never ending but she focused ferociously on her two main objectives: the research she had been assigned, and the recipe book.

Her assignment had proceeded quickly till that moment, so she had tried to slow down her pace to avoid completing everything too soon and consequently return to a meaningless existence. But the job seemed so dull today, and the house so empty!

In the middle of the morning, Hermione crossed her arms over the table, bent her head and let tears of frustration run down her cheeks, watching them fall and sink into the wooden surface while she pushed back parchments and book to avoid staining them. Soon her desperation grew intolerably acute, and in a few minutes, she found herself sobbing desperately, drowned in a sea of self-pity.

The quietness of the afternoon helped her to recover her composure. At six o'clock, she had table and dinner set, and a wavering calm restored in her mind.

...

Professor Snape looked very tense that evening, tired and in a brooding mood. He didn't say a word but, as soon as he entered and handed her the supermarket bags, he wordlessly went to take the Firewhisky bottle he kept locked in his room. Disconcerted, Hermione saw him sit and drink two full glasses before even noticing what she had put on his dish. Never ever had he behaved like this, and she felt very worried… and, above all, very uneasy.

He kept drinking determinedly during the meal, closing himself in a dark silence. The situation was becoming intolerable; so, in an attempt to raise a reaction, she asked him how his day had gone. He sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he said slowly, "Please be quiet, Miss Granger. The exasperating task of helping your idiotic friend to survive is demanding enough even without you adding your comments to it."

"What do you mean? Has something happened to Harry?" she exclaimed, tightening the fork in her hand spasmodically.

He considered her with a strange expression in which regret, rage and frustration seemed to mix.

"Don't worry," he replied. "Professor Dumbledore does his best to protect his favourite student. There is no action he would not justify nor word he wouldn't accept from Potter… even if that would mean putting the whole school in danger."

His lip curled in a disdainful expression. "No, you don't have to worry for your friend. Leave that unpleasant task to me. After all," he murmured, resting his forehead wearily on his hand, "I have sins to make amends for…"

A concerned silence followed these words, and finally, Snape seemed to realise how anxiously Hermione was looking at him.

"However," he concluded harshly, "It's a highly deplorable circumstance that Potter has been deprived of the only positive influence he ever acknowledged."

A pause. "And I mean you".

He observed her with eyes that were beginning to become unfocused. "Though I must confess your fondness for Potter still baffles me…"

Hermione frowned. Even realising that he was under the effect of a heavy alcoholic drink, his comments ignited a blind rage that she needed to release. So, she reacted immediately.

"There is nothing to be _baffled_ about. He is brave and generous and loyal… and I care for him!"

He relaxed against the back of his chair. "Then why don't you also care for everyone else? There are many others with these qualities who are just as deserving of your affection."

She felt cornered. "Well, I… I don't know. At the beginning, I detested him."

She watched his ironic smirk and decided to return the challenge. "However, I suppose you know the way friends choose each other. Sometimes there is no understandable reason. It's our heart that chooses for us."

He waved a hand with a harsh laugh.

"Our heart…" he considered sarcastically. "And our hearts never let us down, do they? I see you subscribe to those feminine romantic theories. I had expected more from a brain like yours. Though you are just a woman, after all, and a very young one."

Hurt at the venom in his words, Hermione tightened her lips and didn't answer, crossing her arms with a defiant glare.

Snape furrowed his brows. "I suppose it never occurred to you that your friends might fail you," he continued in a slightly slurred voice.

This time words burst out in resentment.

"I trust my friends. I know I can rely on them," she replied firmly.

Snape tilted his head. His eyes were veined with red and stared at her without really seeing.

"You trust your friends…" he repeated slowly. "Ah, what a naive statement! Well, Miss Granger, what would you do if your best friend insulted you brutally… and in front of a crowd of people?"

She watched him, confused and vaguely frightened. Professor Snape now looked unmistakably drunk. He bent forward to speak, eyes unfocused with anger.

"What would you say if you had tried to defend your best friend from a threat and, instead of being grateful, he rejected you, shouting that he didn't need your help?"

His voice rose uncontrollably, and Hermione drew back in alarm while he continued, trembling with repressed fury.

"What would you do if he pushed you away and spitefully insulted you and called you a filthy little Mudblood in front of the whole school… and only because you had tried to help him? What would your tender heart suggest in this case, Miss Granger?"

His fists had clenched. The vein on his forehead was pulsing. His features were altered into such an awful mask that the girl raised a hand as if to protect herself, feeling panic run through her veins like a chilling stream. Why was Professor Snape so enraged? What had Harry done? Had professor and student collided again? _What had happened?_

While Hermione fumbled for an answer, memories unexpectedly awakened in her mind, and she relived in a swift succession the many times she and her friends had quarrelled. Yet, how remote those episodes seemed now and how irrelevant compared to the inexplicable anguish she was witnessing! But there was no time for thinking. He was too agitated to wait, and she was too scared to delay.

"So, Miss Granger? What would you do?" Snape urged her ferociously. She took a deep breath and forced a tremulous voice out.

"I'd tell him that his words were unfair. I'd tell him how stupid he is. Perhaps I'd even slap his face."

She suddenly thought of Draco, whom she had hit in their third year. What was he doing now? Running towards perdition with his two obtuse sidekicks? She gulped, trying to focus her thoughts again. It was difficult to concentrate under the feverish gaze of that pale, tormented man.

And finally she found the words: her voice softened, and at the same time, became strangely determined.

"But then I would wait for him to come to me."

Snape paled even more while she continued, "Yes, I would wait for him. And if he didn't come, I would look for him and ask for explanations."

His eyes were now dilated pools of pain.

"And then? What would you do?" His anguished question sounded like a cry.

"I would listen and try to understand. Perhaps it had effectively been my fault, and I would ask him to forgive me. But if it was his fault, and if he apologised and told me he was sorry, I would forgive him."

Snape buried his face in his hands.

"Forgive him!" he repeated in desperation. "Forgive him…"

Shocked at this reaction, Hermione dared to plead for her friend.

"Please, Professor, give Harry a chance. He is not as bad as you think-"

"Potter?!" Startled, Snape lowered his hands and widened his eyes. Surprise, rage and a mysterious emotion vibrated in his voice.

"You are speaking of Potter? I don't… I wasn't…"

He was becoming inarticulate with emotion, so he stopped to take a deep breath, trying to control his reaction. Once more, his fists clenched in a supreme act of will. His eyes blinked repeatedly, then they became surprisingly clear. He leaned against the back of his chair and stared at Hermione for what seemed an eternity.

"Your loyalty to your friend is… admirable," he finally declared with a disconcerting smile.

Then he pushed back his dish and added coldly, "I'm finished. Good night, Miss Granger."

He got up faltering a little, cast a last glance at the table and turned to go out, stopping for a moment to take the bottle with unsteady fingers. Hermione realized in horror that he had totally emptied it.

She saw him walk to his room and close the door with a sharp bang. Then she heard the sound of fists colliding violently and repeatedly against a wooden surface, and finally, the crashing sound of a bottle thrown to the ground. She held her breath. But the silence that followed those explosions was even more alarming, and she sighed in despair, once more alone with her bitter thoughts.

**NA:**

_1) "Now that your brainless friends aren't available to be wearied, you need to seek new victims to inflict yourself on" and "Your loyalty to your friend is… admirable": I would like to thank Duj and her wonderful story "In Your Dreams", from which I borrowed these two sentences. Thank you for all your help!  
_

_2) Just to clarify: please remember that Harry didn't tell his friends about the episode he saw in the Pensieve while they were in school, and that's why Hermione cannot understand…_


	11. Tuesday - day 10

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Tuesday - Day 10 – Company**

The noises were almost imperceptible yet Hermione woke up in panic, curling under the sheets. Then she remembered that she had locked her door before going to bed, and relaxed a bit while trying to understand what was happening outside. She could hear him moving in the living room as he did every morning, but there was something strange in his pacing pattern. He seemed to return constantly before her door, as if he were waiting for her. She froze and held her breath, carefully keeping silent. Finally, she heard him sigh deeply. Silence fell again for some interminable minutes, then she heard the sharp sound of something being violently ripped. Her eyes widened in fear but, immediately afterwards, his steps faded away, becoming barely audible, and the main door closed with a soft thud. Without delay, she got up and ran to lock herself safely inside the house.

She moved to the window to watch, and hidden by the curtains, she could see him advancing with great difficulty in the snow, carrying the usual black bag and a pile of books. It was still dark, but his even darker silhouette was clearly visible against the white mantle. He was proceeding slowly, head lowered against the wind, and everything in his figure suggested a deep exhaustion. She felt unexpectedly sorry. Why did he have to suffer so much?

Compassion invaded her heart and she slowly returned, stopping to inspect the living room. There were a few little fragments of parchment scattered on the table, and she had a sudden intuition. Quickly, she knelt beside the fireplace… and there she found them: strips of half-carbonised parchment, distorted by heat and emitting a white smoke. She picked up one of them, just in time to read the words "_sorry for_" before they were suddenly incinerated by the flames.

She watched the little heap of ashes and shook her head in incredulous wonder. So, she had guessed right. He had tried to speak to her that morning. He had waited for her in front of her room. Then, realising that she wouldn't come out, he had tried to write a letter of apology. But pride had evidently been too strong.

She smiled. He couldn't overcome the habits of a whole lifetime. Yet, something was changing between them. She felt an immense hope and joy filling her heart; and still smiling, she went to the kitchen to start her day. The evening needed to be planned carefully.

...

Professor Snape entered, narrowing his eyes at the dancing light of the flames, and inclined his head in a mute greeting. She hurried to take the plastic bags and replied to his nod with another silent, respectful one. He frowned, looking uncomfortable, and seemed to be searching for words. He was evidently struggling with himself; so, letting silence do the work for her, Hermione went back to the kitchen.

A few moments later, he joined her. His face was grave, and his lips were curled in his typical pout. He crossed his arms and sighed deeply.

"Miss Granger", he began to say with a rough tone. Rather than the beginning of an apology, it seemed more like an accusation. But she didn't give him the chance to go on; she just put a dish of hot soup before him, raising her brows in meek invitation while her heart thudded with anxiety. He stiffened, clearly wrong-footed, but finally he sat and began to eat.

The few words they exchanged were carefully neutral. She tried to avoid any possible cause of tension, but her effort almost betrayed her when she noncommittally asked, "Is it cold, outside?"

His brows raised, and she immediately realised the utter stupidity of her question. She blushed and murmured some hurried words while he observed her with a suspicious gaze.

...

At the end of the dinner, her first planned surprise made its appearance on the table: a cake, a very simple "do-it-yourself" preparation she had unexpectedly found on one of the shelves (sometimes the house did seem to have a magical power of its own). She had never noticed that product before, but finding it had been a blessing. It had been easy to prepare (she needed only to add milk and eggs before baking it), looked tasty, smelled delicious… and now all she had to do was wait and cross her fingers in hope. Would her plan be successful?

For a moment, she feared not. He had frowned, his face darkening in a cautious, disbelieving expression. And then she perceived his thoughts. He was the one who should have apologised, but he hadn't. Yet, the person he had hurt was returning nastiness with sympathy. He was not used to such attentions, and she could see that he was trying to figure out the reasons behind her actions. Again she felt an immense compassion well up in her soul. Poor, miserable creature the man before her was; he had never experienced friendship and love in their pure, absolute magnificence!

She let his eyes bore into hers, and his mind probe her intentions. His head lowered with a sigh, and he muttered, "That was really… unexpected. Thank you, Miss Granger."

That was all: nothing less, nothing more, but it was enough for her, mostly because she suspected that the word he had effectively wanted to say was "_undeserved_".

After dinner, they went to the living room, and she showed him the second and the last of her surprises. The research about potions had been finished, and the parchments lay on the table, gathered in ordered piles. His eyes widened with astonishment. Silently, he examined the many pages written in her precise calligraphy and carefully divided by subjects.

"Perfect!" he whispered, and she radiated with joy; then she dared ask, "My homework is finished, Professor, unless you have something else for me."

He shook his head, still immersed in the pages, and replied with that distracted tone so typical of those lost in their thoughts.

"No," he said. "Classes will soon be suspended for winter holidays, and my only task will be marking assignments."

She clasped her hands nervously. "Then perhaps I have a suggestion…" she ventured with hesitation.

"Would you like to help and grade at my place?" His tone was ironic, and his eyes still focused on the pages.

"Of course not," she hurried to reply. "But could I ask you to stay in this room while you work? It's much warmer than the rest of the house. I have a book to read, and I won't bother you."

He was busy reordering the parchments, so he just glanced at her in a mute question. She felt extremely uneasy.

"Please," she gulped. "You see… I would appreciate some company, this evening."

His hands stilled. "Even if it's me?"

"I'd be honoured", she said simply.

"The honour is mine," he replied with a little bow.


	12. Wednesday - Day 11

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Wednesday - Day 11 – Reward**

That Wednesday morning, Hermione woke up with a happy smile on her lips. She yawned and stretched lazily under the blankets while she distractedly listened to the usual little noises outside her door. Then she began to rearrange the many thoughts in her mind, like the pieces of a puzzle.

The evening before had been spent in the comfortable proximity of the fireplace - she reading, he marking - in peaceful quietness. No words had been exchanged till he had watched the clock and announced, "Time to rest, Miss Granger."

She had closed the book she had pretended to read.

"Thank you," she had smiled gratefully.

"As I said, the honour was mine," he had replied, inclining his head in a goodnight.

Back in present again, savouring his unexpectedly kind words, Hermione rested her head on the pillow and tried to focus her thoughts with more intensity. It was important. Every little detail could help. Once more, the scene opened wide before her eyes, and she began to examine what had happened.

Protected by the book, she had cast quick, furtive glances at her dark companion. Professor Snape was a hard worker, and soon a little heap of assignments, marked with red notes, was piled before him. Immersed as he was in his duty, he hadn't noticed the many times she had turned a page, and at the same time, raised her eyes to look at him.

_Good old school-tricks_, she had thought, smiling inwardly with satisfaction.

First of all, she had observed his straight profile: ugly, he was definitely ugly. His nose was crooked, and his teeth suggested a lack of care probably derived from his childhood. Maybe also a poor diet? Or no attention to his dental hygiene from his parents? Being the daughter of two dentists, Hermione had frowned at this last thought. But perhaps his parents hadn't had enough money… or perhaps they hadn't cared enough? His father seemed to have been a very disagreeable man to live with, and if he had resented his wife for being a witch, tension could have reached very high peaks in that house. This could explain Professor Snape's sombre, resentful reactions.

She had sighed softly at these considerations. Seen from this perspective, the man again seemed more than pitiable.

Then she had considered his hair and frowned. Clearly, he wasn't making any attempts to appear presentable.

Perhaps his role as a spy involved this unpleasant facade. But with a bit of luck and cunning on her part, at least this problem could be solved.

She wondered again why he had never asked Madam Pomfrey to help him with his teeth and hair. Magic offered so many possibilities! Hermione knew it very well, having herself enjoyed the chance to fix her smile.

Again, perplexity washed over her. It was evident that Professor Snape wasn't interested in his public image. But why? Had he ever had a girlfriend? Perhaps she had rejected him? Indubitably, there were no known love stories or girls gossip about him at school. Feeling an unexpected sympathy in her heart, Hermione had stared at him a bit too long.

That had been her only mistake, she had to admit, remembering that moment with a pang. He had chosen exactly that instant to turn his head, taking her unprepared. She had blushed and smiled meekly. He had frowned. The world has stood still for some anguishing moments, then he had shaken his head, raised his brows and returned to work while she had silently released her breath with relief.

Disregarding the aesthetic side of the man, the second part of her considerations had successively focused on the secrets he was carrying, and that she wasn't allowed to enquire of. For instance, what was going on at Hogwarts? What were her friends doing? And why had Snape got so enraged the day before? She had tried to remember his words. He had spoken of a best friend… Her best friend? No, neither Harry or Ron would call her Mudblood. Then Snape's best friend? Again no, because Snape was a Half Blood… But perhaps he had changed the original words for her benefit.

Well, if Snape had been betrayed by his best friend, that could explain many things. Who could his best friend have been? Maybe a future Death Eater. Or was it somebody who had tried to convince him to abandon that risky path? Snape had spoken of a threat. Perhaps his friend had been menaced by somebody else? But, if so, why had he refused Snape's help? What had Snape done to be pushed away so violently that the memory was still hurting him so much?

Drowning in a sea of "ifs" and "perhaps", Hermione got up from the bed. He had already left the house, and for a moment, she felt sorry for not having been there to wish him goodbye. After all, they were beginning to build something not too dissimilar from a friendship!

The thought was extraordinary, and Hermione bit her lip, thinking of her early reveries about Snape as a husband. The idea had initially stirred her fantasy, but only because she had unexpectedly been placed in a very particular situation. Their imposed cohabitation had made her experience the upcoming future: being an adult and having a life, a house and even a man of her own to look after.

But these had been only fantasies; reality had opened her eyes as soon as the novelty had lost its freshness. Professor Snape was an unpleasant adult with a lot of troubles and problems that still needed to be solved. She was a girl, and she wanted to have a life and a man of her own, but chosen freely, not imposed as a ruse to survive a war. Hopefully, the man of her life would arrive in the real future. If she was allowed to have a future, of course.

She raised her head fiercely. Enough whining! It was time to organize something. Now that the research about potions had been completed, the day promised to be very boring.

Unless…

…

Hermione made a tour of the house. Like each one of the days she had spent there, she cleaned up the kitchen and the bathroom. Professor Snape was very careful in removing all traces of his bathroom use. She supposed that he was feeling uncomfortable about sharing a private space, much more than she was, at this point. Or perhaps he knew he couldn't be considered "handsome", and this was preventing him from spending too much time on his grooming procedures.

She interrupted her cleansing for a moment and thought about this. Was there something that she could try? She checked his toiletries, paying great attention to their position in the cupboard. A half-emptied bottle of shampoo was standing proudly amongst the ordered confusion, but near it there was a bottle of hair lotion that looked suspiciously oily. She opened it and smelled the fragrance. Hmm… not really inviting! A drop on the palm of her hand confirmed her first impression.

_Merlin!_ she thought. _No wonder he looks so greasy! He is worsening the problem!_

The label said that the product had been created to protect hair from "the damaging actions of potions' fumes, dragons' breath, vaporizing spells" and similar other assorted risks. She widened her eyes: it was obvious that the wizarding world was still very, very behind in matters of beauty products! Muggles had a huge advantage: chemical research in big labs and merciless market competition had greatly contributed to an improvement in their creations. Her eyes looked at the label again. Dragons' breath! Ah, come on!

She carefully put the lotion back at its place, then she went to check her own products. After a long meditation, she chose a shampoo for "oily scalp and hair", four magical words that the wizarding world didn't seem to consider at all when producing its cleansing items. Then she added a conditioner of the same kind, and as a final touch, she picked up a spray-on polish that claimed to have protective qualities while adding shine. She left the products on a side of the bathtub, displayed as casually as if they had been forgotten. She hoped that his curiosity would win.

…

Resuming the cleaning, Hermione reached her room and considered her bed with a wrinkled nose. The sheets were… well, they were "used"! Ten days in that house, always with the same bed covers! Probably Professor Snape could stoically bear the inconvenience, as he was staying the whole day at Hogwarts. Surely the house-elves were at least cleaning his clothes. But here!

She had been washing her smalls every day, taking immense care in hanging them to dry in front of the fireplace, and bringing them back in her room before he arrived. But the sheets were too big for the same attentions.

She went to the kitchen. A washing machine and a dryer were standing in a corner. She hadn't used them till that moment because the appliances were unfamiliar to her, and because her things were too small to waste such a large quantity of water and electricity. But the sheets were a worthwhile amount. The only problem was: would the machine dry the sheets in time? Because there was no other fresh set available, at least that she knew.

She couldn't risk it, Hermione thought sadly: better ask permission from Professor Snape. Perhaps he would like to change his sheets too.

…

As a final duty, she went to check on the wood for the fire. The weather outside was very cold, and the fireplace needed to be continually fed. After the first days, she had discovered that the cupboard in the living room was also a little woodshed. Many logs, branches and aromatic pinecones were carefully stored in one of its corners. Though its dimensions weren't significant outside, inside the cupboard was as large as a small room.

Perhaps Professor Dumbledore had enchanted it to offer the house and its inhabitants a little warehouse and to spare them frequent trips out in the snow. She entered, took a quick look and tightened her lips in a worried expression: the quantity of wood had alarmingly decreased, and soon somebody would have to go out and provide a new stock. Well, she would need to ask Professor Snape for this also. The prospect made her shiver more than the wind howling like a wolf around the house.

…

The dinner went on calmly, though he had begun to tap his fingers as soon as the dishes had been filled. He was evidently fed up of being nourished for the third evening in a row with the same monotonous recipes: soup, eggs or meat at various imperfect degrees of cooking, plus boiled vegetables.

So, when the meal was finished, he sighed and made a discomforted statement, "I suppose there is no more cake left."

Ha! She had saved the last two slices especially for him. Temptation had been strong, as it had joined forces with boredom and gluttony

But she had been stronger, and when she presented him with the tray, she felt happy and proud of her determination.

His eyes sparkled with pleasure at the delicious sight, and he dug his fork in the first portion with a voracious expression. Then he noticed that she had chosen only an apple.

"What about you?" he asked, frowning and putting down his fork. "Are you on a diet?"

"Well," she blushed. She hated herself for her childish reaction but she couldn't elude an answer, so she continued, "I… I believe that it's better if you take them all. The pieces are so little, and outside it's so cold, so I thought…"

Words died on her lips, and she blushed even more intensely. Wordlessly, he tilted the tray and let the second slice slip into her dish.

"You deserve a reward", he muttered, and began to eat.

Her heart dilated with immense joy. Glowing scarlet, she lowered her head and stammered a "thank you".

He waved his hand condescendingly.

But when she dared to look at him again, she could see his lips curl up in his peculiar smile.

* * *

**Messages to unregistered readers who are however as kind as to leave me a review (forgive my English):**

_To **Guest**: I'm very happy that you like the story so much. Thank you a lot! _

_To **amr: **You got it perfectly, this really is the Taming of the Snape ;) However, about your question, the "learning curve" - as you called it - isn't following a definite pace. Those two characters are living beings, and therefore, they are unpredictable, at least in my intentions. Be prepared to different rhythms and emotions... Thanks for your message._


	13. Thursday - Day 12

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers. More messages below.  
_

**Thursday - Day 12 – Unexpected**

In the middle of the morning, Hermione stopped her cleaning and went to watch the mountains through the window. For the very first day in her long seclusion, the sun was shining in the sky. The snow was glittering, and the landscape around the house looked like the illustrations in a fairy tale book.

Enchanting, was the first consideration that came to her mind. Enchanting and so peaceful! The little house was positioned near a wood, in a large plain all covered in white. Far away, the mountains proudly raised their white peaks, and, near enough to be seen - but not enough to disturb the blissful silence - a road was their only connection with civilized life.

For a moment, Hermione wished she could go skiing and forget everything about the war and her situation. Then she sat on a chair and meditated. The evening before, she had forgotten to ask Professor Snape about sheets washing and wood stocking. To be honest, she had deliberately avoided it. He was in such a delightful quiet mood! Without being asked, he had sat at the table and begun to mark parchments, exactly as he had done the evening before. So, she had preferred to relax in the living room and read a book near the fire. The moment had been so peaceful! Why ruin it by becoming engaged in a discussion?

But that morning, he had been busy again and worried for some unknown reason, so his face had darkened in an alarming way. She had been afraid to speak, and now she was deeply regretting the missed opportunity, mostly because in the last hours it had become evident that her outlook had been exceedingly optimistic: the wood in the cupboard would last only till dinner, then somebody would have to go out and restock the quantity. But he was at Hogwarts now, and how would she dare to ask him to undergo more labour in the chilling cold of the evening, after a day at work and such an extenuating trip in the snow to come back?

Furthermore, to be sincere, there was a more obscure reason that had induced her to keep silent, and that reason was her wish for freedom. She wanted to go out, savour the freshness of the day, the light of the sun, and the inviting softness of the snow. And today the weather seemed to have benevolently accepted her request. So, what should she do now?

She debated with her conscience_. No unnecessary_ _going out_, his first message had stated. But that morning there was a reason. And, good heaven! Of all the days Death Eaters could choose to track the house, would they pick exactly that one? After all, if the Dark Lord had serious intentions of finding her, her being in or out wouldn't change the situation too much. For a moment, she thought of Sirius and paled. Yes, her premise was laughable. Yes, she was trying to deceive herself. But wood needed to be restocked. So, wait or go?

She opened the door and stood still.

…

The first breath of crisp air seemed to burn her lungs. How delicious it smelled! She watched around and scanned cautiously the world around her. In front of her there was the garden, buried under the snow and bordered by a fence. On the right, the forest. On the left, a small lodge, probably the woodshed. Silence and stillness all around. She thought that, in that supernatural quietness, it would be easy to perceive if somebody approached.

Automatically, she took a step.

…

The woodshed was small and cosy, fragrant with an aromatic smell. There was a huge amount of wood piled inside. She imagined that, with a few trips, she could gather enough fuel for two days. Then, on Saturday – she was carefully keeping the count of her confinement – Professor Snape could finish the task with her help. Well, she decided, let's not waste more time. She was out, and there was a job to be done.

She went in and out at least ten times, face reddened in excitement and mind joyfully busy. She was carrying the last armful of branches when she saw them.

…

Two figures were standing at the edge of the garden. Hermione felt such a violent pang of fear that she almost let the wood drop. She immobilized immediately in the desperate hope that they hadn't noticed her, while her heart was racing madly. Instinctively, she searched for her wand, then she remembered that she didn't have it. And the famous letter to ask for help was safely locked in Professor Snape's room! Now it was painfully clear why it would have been better to stay inside.

The two figures advanced slowly. One stopped near the little gate, the other entered the garden and approached. Hermione felt her knees go weak.

"Good morning!" the stranger greeted her. He was a tall, blonde boy with blue eyes, and looked almost her age, perhaps a bit older. He smiled, a very friendly smile, then he exclaimed, "I didn't think that there was anybody in the house. What a surprise!"

The look on her face must have been very expressive because he stopped and added with concern, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

He smiled again. "I'm Robert, and this is my sister, Rebecca. We've just arrived for the holidays. We live down there in the village. What about you? On holiday too?"

The arrival of his sister saved Hermione from a direct answer.

"Hello," the girl said with a timid smile; she was younger and looked nice, so finally Hermione found enough voice to reply.

"Glad to meet you," she said. Robert was right before her now, his breath coming out in white little puffs.

"Hey, it looks heavy!" he exclaimed, tilting his head at the wood she was carrying. "Need any help?"

"No, no, thank you," she hurried to reply. "I was just taking this inside, don't worry, I'm finished."

But the boy had already gallantly taken the load, and Hermione couldn't do anything else than guide him into the woodshed and let him place the wood on the same pile from where it had just been taken a few seconds before. Now that she could observe him more calmly, Hermione understood why she had been so terrified at his sight. He was so similar to Draco! But, now that they were face to face, she could see that he was only a handsome, charming boy, and his eyes were looking at her with an admiration that she found decidedly flattering.

"So, what were you saying… Er, sorry, I didn't get your name?" Robert asked, and she realised that she couldn't avoid an answer at that point.

"Jane," she said, using her second name and feeling terribly stupid; but the boy didn't seem to notice her confusion and nodded with satisfaction as they went out in the sun again. His sister was looking around with curiosity, but once more, the question came from him.

"Are you a relative of old Ebenezer?" he asked with a smile.

"E-Ebenezer?" she replied uncertainly.

"Ebenezer Snape," Robert explained. "The first owner of this cottage. He passed away many years ago, but my grandpa knew him well. It's a long time since we saw any of the family around here."

"Er, no, I'm here with my family," she replied evasively, and the boy seemed even more satisfied.

"Not many tourists here during winter, but if you are looking for snow, that's the right place. How long will you be staying, Jane?"

_Tenacious like a bullmastiff_, Hermione thought with a sigh, and his sister seemed to understand her thoughts because she winked in complicity. Thankfully, a telephone rang. The sound resounded piercingly in the silence, and Robert had a disappointed gesture.

"Sorry," he said and extracted a mobile from his pocket.

"Dave!" he exclaimed immediately. "No, no, I didn't forget about you. Just went out for a little walk with Becky, you know, to feel the snow. You'll never guess what? Someone is staying at Snape cottage!"

Hermione paled at this announcement, but the boy, too excited to notice, bent close to her to whisper hurriedly, "Sorry, a friend of mine, who's leaving today. Must go back to say goodbye."

He shouted into the phone, "OK, on my way!" then he closed the flip with a sharp sound.

"Well, it seems that we must go now, Jane." He looked disappointed. "But please come to visit us. First house on the left after the bridge. There is a big tree in the garden, you can't miss it."

He cast his sister a meaningful glance.

"Yes," the girl complied obediently. "We will be glad to see you again."

…

Hermione went in the house and locked the door. Then she watched from the window. There was no trace of her two visitors except their footsteps in the snow. She covered her face with her hands and slumped on her knees with a hoarse sob. What would she say to Professor Snape? How would she justify her actions? And, Merlin! how would he react? A sudden spasm shook violently her body. She had just the time to reach the bathroom before throwing up her breakfast.

…

It was a very miserable Hermione that welcomed Professor Snape that evening. Her heart was beating so forcefully that she could almost hear it, and her eyes were reddened and dilated in fear. He hung his cloak before noticing her face. His brows rose in alarm, and with a sudden movement, he took her wrists, pulling her close to him.

"What happened?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I… I can explain," she stammered in panic. He frowned.

"_Explain_?" he repeated, hardening his voice. "What do you mean by that?"

She lowered her head and gulped.

"Look at me, Miss Granger!" he ordered sharply, tightening his hold. His eyes bored into hers, trying to breach her mental barriers. Terrified, she struggled to free herself.

"I'm asking what happened!" he roared, and she gave a little cry. His fingers felt like pincers on her flesh.

"Please, Professor!" she pleaded. "You are hurting me!"

Tears started running on her cheeks, and he released her immediately. Then he breathed deeply, folded his arms and asked with hardly suppressed anger, "You said you have an explanation, Miss Granger. I'm expecting it."

She told him everything, and tears never stopped to flow during the whole telling. She only tried to check her sobs, because each time one of them interrupted her speech, he seemed to get more and more furious. Finally she ended and waited, head lowered to conceal her reddened eyes.

He had begun to walk in circles around her, arms crossed behind his back and lips tightened so forcefully to be practically invisible. Silence was becoming more and more intolerable, and her tremulous gasping sobs were the only audible sound. Finally, he stopped his pacing.

"I would never expect such a foolish behaviour from you," he slowly declared. "Your recklessness has put the whole mission in great danger. Perhaps ruined it in spite of all our efforts."

He paused, and his mouth curled in a bitter smile.

"And, I would like to add, you have endangered my own mission. I know that I am nothing but a miserable pawn compared to your friend Potter, and, of course, I had never thought you would take seriously my warnings. However, I was hoping that at least you would obey Professor Dumbledore, if not me."

She felt a knife entering her heart. She had expected shouts and threats, not that composed, resigned calm.

"The house has been discovered by Muggle people," he went on flatly. "Though there are powerful spells protecting it, I will have to inform Professor Dumbledore as soon as possible. From now on, we are in danger."

"But… I thought the house was Unplottable!" she cried in anguish. It was so horrible to know that HE was in danger because of her! What would she do, how would she feel if he had been accused, tortured and killed in his next encounter with the Dark Lord? And what about her friends, the wizarding world, the poor unaware Muggles… and she herself? What tragic destiny was waiting for them all because of her stupidity? Remorse was unbearable.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," he continued as calmly as if they were discussing in school, "but this house can be seen by Muggles. Professor Dumbledore decided to put an enchantment only for wizarding people, so we can reasonably assume that your visitors were Muggles. However, we don't know if they have a connection with the Dark side, or if their memories can be extracted by somebody cunning enough to discover what has happened this morning. You said they had a friend leaving today? Perhaps he could be in touch with one of our enemies. After all, my fellow Death Eaters know that I have a house, though they didn't know where. Or should I say, though they didn't know it _till today_?"

She gasped and covered her face with her hands.

"Please, forgive me. My… my intentions were good…" she sobbed, and again tears ran out in a flood.

He shook his head with infinite bitterness.

"Unfortunately, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, Miss Granger. And what we are going to face is hell on the earth."

* * *

_**Messages from the grateful (and highly sentimental) author:**_

_1) I would like to thank the real Robert and Rebecca for lending me their names and therefore participating in the story. Rebecca was also one of my betas, and I want to thank her again for all her precious help. Grazie, carissima :) _

_2) I am very happy to receive all your reviews, comments and messages. As I always say, and as my oldest reviewers know, I enjoy chatting with my readers very much! It's one of the best collateral effects of this site. So, thank you again for keeping in touch and helping me through your words._

_BTW, feel free to write in your languages if you speak French and Spanish (and Portugues, if not too complicated). I will however answer in English because, though I speak and read those languages, I'm not very sure of my grammar when writing. Too much time I don't practice, unfortunately. Italians, of course, have no problems ;)_

_3) Bianca, I would have liked to answer to you but it's impossible. Perciò, grazie per avermi mandato un messaggio, spero che la storia continui a piacerti!_

___4) And finally: So, things begin to get a bit troubled for Hermione and the dear Professor... what will happen now?_


	14. Friday - Day 13

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Friday - Day 13 – Sorry**

Friday morning, Hermione got up and dressed in silence. Her stomach was still aching, and her eyes were circled in black. She had spent an awful night with recurrent nightmares and practically no sleep.

She opened the door just in time to see Professor Snape enter the living room with an armful of wood. The main door had remained half open, so she could notice that outside there was a snowstorm. She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms in an instinctive reaction to the frosty air coming from outside. Then she looked at him, and her heart skipped a heartbeat. He was positively bluish. Snow glittered on his dark hair and his cloak was covered with snowflakes. There was already a huge quantity of wood piled near the cupboard, and a humid line of dirt, melted snow and twigs indicated the path he had traced in his coming and going. Surely he had been working for a long while before she got up.

Hermione clasped her hands and watched him, not daring to speak. He didn't say anything, only tightened his lips disdainfully, returning her gaze. She lowered her head.

"You should have called me," she murmured.

"And why?" he replied ironically. "Perhaps to help me like you did yesterday?"

She felt a burning shame redden her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I deserve a detention… but I suppose it would be too mild a punishment for my mistake."

Her throat was dry. Why wasn't he shouting or menacing? That composure was so terribly painful!

Snape observed her. "I'm glad you still have a conscience. I believe you will find it a more intransigent judge than any human being… me included."

He watched the dirt on the floor. "However, if you want to assist, I'll be happy to leave you the cleaning. This will help you meditate on the joys of atonement."

Hermione sighed. He was right. Nothing could be more painful for her than to watch helplessly while others were doing the work. Words blurted out before she could stop them, in her immense desolation.

"Will you forgive me?"

Snape put down his load, then straightened his back with a grimace.

"The point is not me forgiving you," he said coldly. "The point is an entire world depending on your decisions. You should think before acting."

Hermione sighed again, then whispered, "I suppose there is nothing that I can do."

She regretted her words immediately after. They were so useless!

"Nothing," he in fact confirmed with a meaningful glance. "You have already done enough."

...

The wood had been stocked inside the cupboard, and Snape was ready to leave; but there was still something he needed to add.

"Though I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will be delighted to know how Gryffindor you have been…" he began, and she stiffened in anticipation. But he didn't complete his sentence. She could see that he was worried, and suddenly, she felt a cold wave of fear.

He went to his room and came back with a squared envelope. He handed it to Hermione. A flourished calligraphy had traced the words "In your name" on it in golden letters. She understood, and paled in anguish.

He crossed his arms. "You will use this in case of danger, Miss Granger. Remember, only in case of danger. I hope you won't deliberately use it to prove your skills." A meaningful look. "Or deliberately forget it to punish yourself."

He took his bags and went to the door. The storm was howling furiously, and for a moment he hesitated in front of that white, agitated sea. Impulsively, Hermione grabbed him by his arm.

"Please don't go," she timidly pleaded.

He pulled away.

"Afraid, Miss Granger?" he asked bitterly.

"Not for me," she replied, and sincerity gave a touching accent to her voice. "But the weather outside is too dangerous."

"That is not the kind of danger you must fear," Snape said, and again, he sounded bitter in an excruciating way. "Besides, I've never withdrawn from my responsibilities, and I won't begin now."

The girl saw him disappear in the snow, and bit her lip to resist the tears. Her heart was aching so much! But there was no solution, and she hoped that nothing would happen, and that the violent storm could at least protect them both from the malignant eyes of their enemy.

...

The day dragged itself wearily. Hermione worked frantically, the envelope safely held in her pocket, her thoughts continually reliving the last events in a delirium of remorse: how foolish she had been!

She spent the morning cleaning everywhere, as if removing stains and dirt was a way to purify herself. In a crescendo of energy, she cleaned her room, the living room, the kitchen and the bathroom. The beauty products she had left on the bathtub were no longer there. They had been removed and carefully positioned on her closet. No, decidedly her idea hadn't worked. But who cared about his hair now that he could be killed because of her stupidity?

Hermione tried to think if perhaps she could cook something special… No, Professor Snape would surely understand and react with his sharp irony. Afternoon passed in a myriad of little tasks. But the more she tried to lighten her burden, the more she felt her anguish grow. Ah, how right he had been! Her own conscience was her most inflexible judge and inexorable punisher, and there was no way to silence its voice.

...

He was back, safe and sound, and Hermione felt exultant.

Relief was immense, but also her anxiety to know more, to be reassured… or definitely condemned.

Dinner was consumed in a rigorous silence, and finally, she dared ask, "What did Professor Dumbledore say?"

Snape raised two cold, unsympathetic eyes.

"Professor Dumbledore said that there is nothing to fear. That everything is under control. And that all that happens, happens for the good."

His hardly controlled anger let clearly understand how disappointed he was. But Hermione was too excited to notice.

"Professor Dumbledore says that there is nothing to fear?" she exclaimed, opening her heart to hope. "But that's fantastic!"

His lips curled downwards in disbelief, then he clenched his fists, a signal she had learned to fear.

"I'm glad you take the matter so lightly," he growled. Then he got up. "Since you are so happy with the news, I'm sure you won't mind if I leave and let you celebrate your triumph."

Hermione watched him agape, then she realised. Her reaction to Professor Dumbledore's reply had hurt him. But he had misunderstood. She had been happy for him, not for her. She paled.

"Please!" she tried, but his glance choked the words in her throat.

"Clean the kitchen," he ordered sharply. "And be quiet!"

Hermione worked in silence, deep sighs escaping her lips. Then she went to the living room, but he wasn't there. He was buried in his room like a lion in his den, and his closed door stood between them as an impenetrable barrier. She resolved to wait.

An hour passed and her anxiety grew. Hermione didn't dare knock at his door. She didn't dare interrupt him, whatever he was doing. But at the same time, she felt the urge to speak with him rise uncontrollably in her chest.

So, she paced the living room, crossing it from side to side with measured steps. She sat on each one of the chairs. She added wood to the fire and tried to read a book, but she was too nervous to go on after the first few pages. Finally, feeling more and more exhausted after a sleepless night and a stressful day, she leaned against the wall near his door, hoping she would find the courage to knock.

...

Silence filled the house; so, when the main door opened slowly, Hermione was ready to catch an imperceptible creak. Outside it was very dark, but the snowflakes whirling in white carousels revealed a darker shape entering cautiously. She widened her eyes. A terrible fear chilled her heart and stomach. So, their enemies had found them. Panic was so immense that she couldn't emit a sound. Had the unknown visitor already seen her? She needed to advise Professor Snape! She needed to open the letter and call Professor Dumbledore! Desperation strangled her. Her fault! It had really been her fault!

The mysterious shade went into the room. It was all dressed in black, but when it raised its hood, Hermione could see the wild eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange staring at her with a triumphant expression.

The girl gasped in horror and tried to withdraw, her mind paralysed in panic… but there was a solid wall behind her. So, she crouched, raising her arms to defend herself while the woman, a frightfully exultant spark in her eyes, reached her like a hungry animal and put clawed fingers on her shoulders. The girl screamed.

Then Bellatrix's face transformed into Lucius', and a frightening, distorted male voice called her from remoteness.

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger!"

Hermione thrashed desperately to free herself from that ghastly grip.

"NO! Don't touch me! Professor, help!"

"Calm down, Miss Granger! I'm here," Snape's voice unexpectedly answered. "What's happening? Why are you lying on the floor? Are you feeling unwell?"

Hermione lowered her arms. She was effectively curled in the space between the doors of their two bedrooms. Snape was knelt in front of her, and the hands grabbing her shoulders were his. Hermione stared at him, confused, shocked, and at the same time, immensely relieved. He straightened, towering over her. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.

"Having nightmares?" he asked. She nodded, unable to speak, and shivered.

"The proper place to rest is in a bed, I believe. What were you trying to do? Penitential activities?"

Hermione remained on the floor, searching for words.

"I was hoping to talk with you", she finally said. "I wanted to tell you that I'm-" But she couldn't go on.

"Sorry?" he concluded for her. Strangely, there was no irony in his tone. "I've already told you that you shouldn't apologise to me."

"But what… what if…" she began, and emotion finally broke the dam of her restraint. "But what if you should be hurt!" she suddenly, passionately cried, and lowered her head to hide the tears, not daring to voice the many horrible images that had been torturing her mind for the whole afternoon.

"I have been living with this possibility for a long time before you were born," he replied, and his tone was surprisingly soft. "Go to bed now. It's late, and it's cold."

Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione got up, but her legs refused to move and she faltered. Snape offered her a hand to steady her steps. She clasped it, and felt an immense wave of energy run into her body. She stopped and looked at him right in his eyes. She needed to ask. It was too important.

"Will you ever forgive me?" she whispered.

"I already have," he replied quietly.


	15. Saturday - Day 14

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers. I love hearing from you. A special thank you to the unregistered commenters, to whom I cannot reply directly with a PM.  
_

**Saturday - Day 14 – Planning**

That Saturday morning, Hermione woke up with a soft cry of anguish. Had anything happened during the night? Were they still free? She hurried to put on her clothes and open the door.

Professor Snape was sitting near the fireplace, and the flames were tracing bizarre drawings on his harsh features. His eyes looked lost in an unpleasant contemplation: he sighed deeply and turned his head to watch her. She returned his gaze and thought that they both looked immensely drained. That war of waiting was wearing them down while consuming their minds.

"Feeling better, this morning?" he asked. "Perhaps a good breakfast could be the right start for the day. We have several things to prepare, given the last unfortunate twist of events."

Hermione nodded gratefully, somehow expecting to see a fragrant display of food materialising in front of her. Then she realised that he was inviting her to go to the kitchen and cook. For a moment, she stopped in dismay, then she lowered her head. Why should something have changed? He had clearly defined their roles. To him, the war. To her, the kitchen. Well, this could be the right moment to ask also about changing the sheets.

She went to prepare the food, letting him stare at the flames. Soon she called him, and they shared a silent meal. When they had finished, she spoke hesitantly, "May I ask you what your plans are, sir?"

"You may always when you ask with the proper tone and respect," Snape replied. "You see, Miss Granger, it is not difficult to live with me when you follow rules, manners and good sense."

Hermione swallowed at his patronising declaration, but she was the one who had put herself in the wrong, and her mistake seemed to have magically deleted all the scruples he might have had regarding his past indiscretions.

Snape waited for a reaction that didn't come, then he continued, "Today we will have to organize the house and its natural defences. Prepare useful things. Restock the wood. Check supplies. In a word, all that can be done to avoid your going out. From now on, this house is even more your fortress and your keeper, and you must remain inside it."

Then he turned his head, and she heard him add in a whisper, "To hell the old man and what he said."

She immediately understood that he was speaking of Dumbledore.

...

As soon as the kitchen was cleaned, Hermione followed Snape in a tour of the house. The morning was still frosty in its temperature, but he announced that it was the best moment to go out and gather as much wood as possible without being seen.

"It's too early for walks, so we should not receive unpleasant visits," he declared. Then, looking at the grey clouds gathering in the sky, he added, "I believe that later it will snow again, so my tracks will be cancelled."

He wrapped himself in an old stuffed red jacket that he must somehow have recovered in his room. How weird he looked in that outfit! Hermione concealed a smile, but also silently thanked that he had something warmer than his cloak to put on. She took her heavy coat to go out with him. On the doorstep, Snape hesitated, then handed her a long thin wooden stick.

"But it's your wand!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise.

"I know that, Miss Granger. Don't state the obvious," he replied sharply.

She took it almost reverentially, looking at him in disconcert.

"But why?"

"Because I'm going to carry the wood inside. My hands will be busy, so I need someone else to protect the house. And me."

This last admission came reluctantly, yet she felt a new wave of energy. He was entrusting his life in her hands. He relied on her, in spite of her faults. For a moment, gratitude and relief made her eyes shine with tears.

Snape considered her with tightened lips.

"Now please pay attention. Scan the area around the house continually. If you should notice a movement – whatever movement – find a quick way to alert me without being detected. But please don't say my name nor call me Professor. Probably those we fear are still not aware of our presence, but we must be very careful. The moment this house becomes Plottable again, that very moment a war will begin."

He folded his arms and stared at her. "Have I made myself clear?"

Hermione nodded firmly, and Snape went to open the door.

...

They worked hard. Well, HE worked hard for a long time. The cupboard swallowed pile after pile of wood, and yet it seemed that there was still room for more. Hermione thought that probably the cupboard had been charmed to expand itself according to their needs.

Around the middle of the morning, Professor Snape was thoroughly exhausted. She called him in and resolutely declared that it was time for a rest and a hot chocolate. Strangely, he didn't object, but followed her obediently into the kitchen and sat in the comfortable warmth, sighing with relief. Then he went back to resume his work while she checked for enemies and felt very important.

As soon as he decided that the wood stock was enough, Hermione invited him to rest near the fire and did her best to prepare an acceptable lunch. She chose the simple, tasty Muggle things she knew Snape liked, like sausages, bacon and eggs, and that were easy to cook. When she went into the living room, he was napping near the fireplace, but his eyes opened vigilantly as soon as she approached him. Food was literally devoured, and he didn't seem to have anything to complain about it.

...

In the afternoon, activity slowed down. He was visibly tired, and she couldn't do the work by herself, only be there and offer a hand when needed. Snape controlled all the windows and the walls, every possible entrance. The enemies they were expecting were wizards, but also human beings. Perhaps they would use force instead of magic to enter the house, so he carefully reinforced the shutters. Hermione was surprised to see him handle nails and hammer so well. Decidedly, his skills were greater than she had believed.

Many other important little precautions were also taken. While he examined and fixed their defences, she went checking the food and prepared a detailed list of supplies and other things needed in the next days.

It was dark and late and cold again, and snow was falling abundantly, covering Snape's footsteps exactly as he had hoped. They had just finished their dinner and left the kitchen to go to the living room when he suddenly felt his left forearm burn and gasped in pain, closing his hand around it.

...

Snape paled. Hermione paled even more. They both stared at each other in anguish.

"It's too cold outside!" she whispered, feeling panic raise uncontrollably and using the first pretext that came to her mind to keep him there. Her fault! What if the Dark Lord had been informed? She couldn't let him go!

"I can't Disapparate in the house," he replied firmly, breathing slowly to recompose himself and discipline his feelings.

"What if you don't go? Is there a possibility to avoid this? What if you had a meeting in school, for instance?" she pleaded in a last, desperate attempt to prevent his leaving, terrified that he could meet his death that same night, yet not daring to express this fear openly.

Snape smiled bitterly. "The Dark Lord won't accept such excuses. He knows the school is closed for the holidays, and I have always managed to answer his Summoning in these years. Disobeying will only raise his suspicions. Besides, I need to know what's happening."

Hermione felt a prickling in her eyes and blinked to keep the tears back. She couldn't bother him in that moment. Snape inhaled once more, very slowly, then he went to take his cloak, his movements now quick and determined. She followed him, not knowing what to do, unable to speak, feeling her heart pound so heavily in her throat it almost choked her. Wordlessly, he put on his cloak, then rummaged in his pockets, fished out a bunch of keys and handed them to her; Hermione took them, and raised her eyes in question.

Snape watched her gravely.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but you'll have to wait for me. I leave my keys to you so that nobody else can use them. When I return, you will let me in. Keep the envelope near you and be prepared for every possibility, included my being followed by our enemies. Be careful and don't open the door unless you are certain that there is no risk. Otherwise, let me out. We are in a war, so forget mercifulness."

Hermione could feel his anxiety. Time was passing fast, there was a long walk in the snow before Disapparating, the Dark Lord was waiting… and she was only a girl. She nodded frantically, tightening the keys with her hands.

"Should I not return within the morning," Snape continued, "you will Disapparate to Hogwarts. The house has powerful protective spells that only Professor Dumbledore can unlock. But the Dark Lord is an equally powerful antagonist. However, defences should warn you and give you the time to escape in case you were attacked. Do not delay to leave the house if you feel you are in danger."

"But what about you?" Hermione finally cried.

"Miss Granger!" he commanded sharply. "Don't make my task even more difficult. I can't face the Dark Lord knowing that you are going to expose yourself pointlessly. Remember, you don't belong to yourself anymore now. Your life is devoted to the cause."

Their eyes met. "As mine is," Snape concluded quietly.

She clenched her fists and watched him, trying to put all her courage in her gaze. His expression softened.

"Don't fail me, Miss Granger," he asked. "Please."

In spite of her panic, Hermione felt her heart twinge with emotion. Never he had sounded so vulnerable, never he had spoken to her with such touching trust.

"I won't, Professor," she replied firmly.

Snape opened the door and snowflakes immediately whirled around him in fury. Hermione remained at the door and watched him walk in the storm until she could discern his fading silhouette; then, when she couldn't see him anymore, she kept staring blankly at the sky, ignoring the cruel wind that was biting her body and feeling a much more chilling cold slowly enter her heart.

* * *

_Did you notice? Two weeks have already passed..._


	16. Sunday - Day 15

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers. _

_And, Guest, you got me wrong. I was pointing out that 14 days have passed because they went so quickly for me! Please remember that it took me 4 years to write the story that now you are reading at such a quick pace ;)_

_Amr, I'm glad that you are curious... but there are many other things that must happen before you get an answer to your questions._

**Sunday - Day 15 – Hateful**

It was two in the morning, and Hermione was feeling desperate. So many frightening questions were dancing in her mind! What had happened? Where was Professor Snape? Why was he so late? And, much more important, _how_ was he?

While time elapsed slowly, many other worried questions joined the previous ones. What about her? Was she in danger? Would it be better for her to go to Hogwarts? Should she wait some time more?

The only way to leave the house was Disapparating. But she had no wand and she didn't feel strong and brave enough to walk far from the house before using magic; therefore, she would have to Disapparate in the cottage, the magical protection would be broken, and their position would be revealed to the enemy. Could she expose Professor Snape to such risk?

And yet every minute of waiting could lead to disaster…

Hermione sank in the same dusty armchair on which she had awakened fourteen days before - the very first time she had found herself in that cursed house – and buried her face in her hands, trying to make a decision. But her brain suggested solutions that her heart rejected. So, in the end, she renounced the fight. She folded her arms and resolved to keep waiting, watching the door with eyes that were beginning to close with exhaustion in spite of her anguish.

It was almost half past three when she heard a knock, and her blood froze in panic. Who was at the door? Could it be him – so early, so late! – or was that a carefully prepared trap, aimed at taking advantage of her lack of sleep? Hermione forced herself to get up and reached the door with uncertain steps.

"Yes?" she asked tensely while her mind tried to guess what would be the best way to determine if an enemy was standing outside.

"Me," his inimitable voice declared curtly. "Alone, chilled and exhausted. Please be quick to decide whether you want me in or not. If it is the second unpleasant case, I'd prefer to reach Hogwarts while I'm still able to walk."

Fear filled her mind, and she heard words spoken by a voice that she didn't recognize but that should be hers; cruel, sharp, merciless, her sentences crossed the air like daggers.

"I'm not going to open. If you really are Professor Snape, you should know that, as this is exactly what he asked me before leaving."

"That's not true," his voice replied calmly. "I told you not to open the door unless you were certain that there was no risk."

At least, he seemed to be the real one. Hermione doubted that an impostor could report so well words he himself hadn't pronounced. In the meantime, the voice on the other side of the door continued its speech.

"I understand your suspicions, Miss Granger," he said, "but it's horribly cold here. So, test me if you must, but please be quick with your decision."

Again, she heard her new cruel voice reply sharply.

"Put your wand on the ground before the door and draw back to the stairs. Don't even think to try a move or I will open the envelope."

Silence followed, then she heard him sigh deeply.

"Using my wand would achieve the same result you are threatening," he replied with a slightly exasperated tone, "but I appreciate your try."

Hermione blushed. He was of course right, and she felt stupid. Then she heard the soft sound of something being placed on the wooden surface of the floor. Immediately after, his steps went towards the little stairs that lead to the garden. They moved quickly, with no hesitation.

"Here I am, as you commanded. Now, what are your orders?" His voice sounded far, half irritated, half insolent, and there was still that insufferable mocking tone. But he had obeyed, and she felt strangely satisfied. Unfortunately this sensation didn't last for too long. The difficult part was just beginning. How to determine that he was not under a dark spell?

Hermione tried to recap the conditions of their confinement: first, the house was visible only to Muggles, and to a select company of magical people that included only Dumbledore, Snape and Hermione herself. He could see the house, so he could not be another wizard in disguise.

Second, the use of magic would reveal the house and surely Summon Dumbledore. Professor Snape had always been worried about that risk, especially about HER possibility of making a mistake. She remembered the pages of the recipes book he had so determinedly ripped. Yes, keeping the house concealed seemed to be very important. But why? Only to hide her? Or was there another reason? In any case, the most important question now was: if he had been Imperiused, would the dark spell coerce him to blow their cover in spite of all those precautions?

And then another frightening thought hit her mind. Perhaps he was trying to induce her to let him inside 'voluntarily'. This way, he could catch her unprepared, she wouldn't have time to react, the magical protection wouldn't have to be broken and Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be able to intervene. And perhaps there were Death Eaters in disguise around the house, waiting exactly for that joyful moment… Ah, that really was an alarming possibility!

What to do? What to do? _WHAT TO DO?!_

Her brain weighted frantically each one of those terrifying hypothesis, but Hermione was too tired to think coherently. Again, that strange dark disposition of mind took control of her lips.

"I can't open. Don't you remember? You said 'forget mercifulness'."

There was a pause. Then his voice suggested, "My wand is on the other side of the door. Why don't you take it so that we can discuss our options in a more relaxed way?"

Merlin, he was right! She needed to take his wand. But, the moment Hermione placed a hand on the doorknob, she stopped in panic. What if that suggestion was a trap? What if there was somebody hidden somewhere out there, ready to grab her as soon as she had opened the door?

Feeling desperate again, the girl tried furiously to find a solution. As if perceiving her thoughts, Snape laughed; an ironical, contemptuous laughter that seemed to break the silence into a thousand crackling pieces.

"Ah, I see you have finally realised it, haven't you? You didn't think you would need to open the door and expose yourself in order to take my wand! That's the problem, Miss Granger. You are eager to gamble, but you are a poor planner. Gryffindor! Never take all the risks into consideration. Lucky for you I am your guardian."

Hermione kept silent, frustrated and unable to make a decision. Again, Snape seemed to read her mind.

"Come on, Miss Granger, open that door." His voice became patronising in a hateful way. "I know you are worried, but let's put a stop to these fears. There is no danger outside. If there were any, the powerful charms around the house would react immediately to such menace! Don't you remember what I said before I left? Didn't I tell you that Professor Dumbledore himself had cast apposite spells to protect the place? You should give credit at least to his powers."

She kept stubbornly silent. He sighed.

"You still don't believe me, I see. Well, how about considering the many times I arrived from Hogwarts these last weeks? You weren't suspecting anything, but I could have met my friends on the way and brought them here in any moment. Why should today be different? Every day I am exposed to that risk, but you never thought about it. That's why Professor Dumbledore put all those defences. To block me before anybody else."

He was right, and once more, she felt immensely stupid. So, there had never been a chance for her to effectively prevent an attack! Somebody else, much more powerful than she was, had planned and prepared an adequate defence system, and all she needed to do was to abandon herself trustfully to that superior wisdom.

Slowly, savouring the acrid taste in her mouth, Hermione opened the door. Surrounded by a radiating halo of warmth, her black silhouette stood still against the light coming from the inside while her gaze searched for his.

Snape was leaning against one of the pilasters that supported the porch, and his pale face took an intolerably smug expression as soon as their eyes met. His lips curled in a smirk, and he nodded with mocking gravity, as if acknowledging her defeat.

Hermione felt her blood boil in fury. Was he teasing her? Had she been waiting and worrying for THIS?!

Suddenly, her mind was filled by memories of his innumerable sarcastic sentences, of his condescending smiles, of his continual scolding, if not actually insulting her. Instantly, all the strange, contrasting sensations that had been clashing in her heart seemed to coalesce into a dark anger. It was as if the anguish and the concern she had felt about him during that long night had been brutally deleted. Even worse, as if those feelings had never existed before.

Something cracked in her mind, and a red veil dimmed her thoughts. Impulsively, Hermione bent and took the wand from the ground with a swift movement. Then she slammed the door closed again, cancelling his hateful face from her sight.

"Miss Granger!" Snape called, this time a bit alarmed. "I hope you are not going to do something foolish!"

"I am not going to do anything," Hermione declared sharply.

"Good. Then I suppose you can let me in now." There was unmistakable impatience in his voice, and she could understand perfectly why. The temperature was unbearable out there. Simply standing out under the doorframe for those few instants had been enough to chill her to her bones! She could easily imagine how he must feel… Yet, her heart had become a stone.

"I can let you go to Hogwarts," the girl replied coldly.

"You'd prefer to be alone? You are welcome. Give me back my wand," Snape asked with forced calm.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" Hermione said disdainfully.

"How do you think I can reach Hogwarts without a wand?" He was still trying to sound reasonable and calm, but she could easily perceive the storm raising. Oh, she knew him too well by now!

"I'm sure you have other tricks you didn't reveal to me," she challenged him openly. Storm definitely burst out.

"But this… this is… You insolent child! Open the door and let me in! Right away!"

"You aren't in any position to give orders," she said, defying him.

"This game has lasted enough!" Snape roared, but Hermione held her ground.

"The only way you have to survive is to ask your dear friends to help you… or to begin walking."

"In this weather? You are condemning me to death!"

"Well, you yourself said your life was devoted to the cause. This is the moment to prove it."

"You… you…" Indignation was strangling him. Hermione smiled knowingly. She knew very well by now how strong emotions could make him inarticulate, so she coldly enjoyed the reaction she had provoked. A pause followed. Then, once more, his voice became detached.

"Open that envelope, Miss Granger. I want to stop this game here and now. Call Professor Dumbledore."

"So that the Dark Lord can kill two birds with a stone?"

"Miss Granger!" He was trembling in fury. "Are you insane? Did these hours of waiting blow up the few neurones left in your brain?"

"Good night, Professor Snape. Have a safe trip home."

How good she felt, how strong and invincible! And yet how incredibly desperate… The girl was savouring her newly discovered power, and at the same time, she was also shaking with tension. Why had she acted like that? What had forced her? What would happen now? Her fingers tightened convulsively, then she startled in panic when his fists unexpectedly hit the door.

"Open-that-envelope-here-and-NOW, Miss Granger!" Snape roared from outside. "Professor Dumbledore will find a new place to hide you away. But this time I won't be your guardian!"

"I wish!" she replied bitterly. "But don't you remember what you told me the first evening in this house? Nobody else can take me because now we are married!"

"To hell with that marriage! It was only a ruse!"

"Well, for me it has been serious! I have been cooking for you and cleaning this house like a real wife. And I haven't even got a thank you for my work!" she shouted, suppressing the need to stomp her feet in fury.

"Are you mad?" he yelled. "What did you want from me, red roses and jewels? I should have gone directly to Hogwarts, instead of coming here!"

"Well, why didn't you go, then?" she yelled back.

"Because I couldn't let you here alone, scared and unprotected!"

A sudden immense silence fell immediately after. They both had frozen, and for many long instants, the only audible sound was the gentle breath of the wind.

Then the door opened slowly. Hermione went out and looked at him, eyes wide in astonishment.

"Why didn't you say that before?" she whispered.


	17. Monday - Day 16

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks as always to my readers and reviewers. Receiving your comments is extremely interesting. ;)  
_

**Monday - Day 16 – Chessboard**

That Monday, Hermione woke up in panic. Was she late? Had she missed her appointment? Then she saw that it was very dark outside and felt relieved. She was still paying the price for the incautious words she had proffered the night before. Professor Snape had found no difficulties in making her Sunday a hell. Her joy in discovering that he was well and that he effectively cared for her had been deleted by his ferocious retaliation. She had been scolded harshly, then she had been confined in her room for the whole Sunday.

Furthermore, he obviously hadn't told her anything about his encounter with the Dark Lord, though she had tried to understand from his mood what could have happened. Of course, he had been right, but she had anyway spent her lonely hours wallowing in useless rage… and in desolate regret.

Her only moments of freedom had been – ludicrously! – those spent in the kitchen: she had been summoned at regular intervals - like a prisoner from a cell – to cook for him in respectful silence. Speaking had been forbidden to her… But not to him!

The torrent of words, sarcastic or menacing, that had flowed from his lips would have broken a less resistant (or a less trained) person. Yet she had survived, and now she was hoping to see him disappear for his usual daily trip. The only problem was that he wanted her to be present at his departure, probably to lecture her once more.

Hermione dressed quickly and went into the living room, bracing herself for the trial. Strange how her remorse and regrets could be cancelled in a few hours! Now her only desire was to be free of his hateful presence as soon as possible. And perhaps the temperature outside would help her enjoy a nice revenge.

Professor Snape came out of his room and her dark propositions vaporised in a flash. He looked terribly exhausted, and for a moment, Hermione felt a great compassion enter her heart. Then he ruined everything again.

"Stay inside the house and try to keep your hormones at bay. I will speak to Professor Dumbledore. The situation is getting unbearable. I hope he will find a solution and rid my life of this burden."

She didn't dare answer, but kept her eyes resolutely fixed into his.

"Go back to your room!" he ordered, and she obeyed, lowering her head in mute hostility.

…

The fire in the living room was languishing; half-heartedly, Hermione entered the cupboard. And while she fumbled to extract a log from the heavy and tall pile of wood, she saw the edge of something similar to a box appear under the branches.

She watched the thing curiously and her heart gave a joyful twist when she recognised the black and white squares of a chessboard.

She bent to take it and suddenly froze in panic, realising that it could contain magical pieces that would break the house's defences in an instant just by reacting at her touch. But it was the Muggle version, so she inhaled deeply and relaxed.

Hermione examined the object, cleaning it from the veil of dirt deposited by years of neglect. Two letters were carved on its side: E. S.

_Ebenezer Snape!_ The girl suddenly thought, and wondered if the mysterious name could be Professor Snape's father. But she needed to wait till the evening and hope he was calm, before daring to investigate such personal matters.

…

Professor Snape was back and his anger seemed to have been lessened by a whole day in Hogwarts. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore had used all his influence to smooth the situation. Or perhaps there was no other way to solve their condition than going on as they had till now. However, he didn't say anything about abandoning his task nor threatened her with dreadful threats. All in all, he looked weirdly quiet, so Hermione decided to take a risk and cautiously showed him the chessboard immediately after dinner.

"This was my grandfather's," Snape replied dryly, holding the object with two fingers and observing it with a disgusted frown. "As I told you, this cottage was my grandparents' house, and I used to spend my vacations with them…"

His face hardened. "Luckily, it didn't last for long."

He handed her back the game. The chessboard was a sturdy piece of wood and looked old and worn, but Hermione wanted it desperately. It was something new in her boring routine, and perhaps this could be the help that she needed to make Professor Snape relax… and untie his tongue.

"May I use it?" she asked with a prayer in her eyes.

He shrugged, clearly uninterested. She thanked him respectfully.

…

After having cleaned the kitchen, Hermione sat at the table in living room and disposed the pieces, trying to remember what Ron had taught her. How far away that happy, light-hearted time seemed!

Professor Snape was sitting on the other side of the table; he was busy with his notes, an intimidating aura still surrounding him. The ghost of a calmness seemed to have been restored in the house after the last exciting events, so she tried to be as silent as possible. But, of course, she couldn't hope to escape his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he abruptly asked. Hermione froze, searching for words.

"Just trying to remember how the pieces are positioned", she finally replied with the respectful tone she knew he appreciated so much. "But I will put it away immediately if it disturbs you".

He frowned. "Don't be silly! How could it disturb me? This is not a noisy game."

She smiled gratefully and resumed her activity. After a while, she was so concentrated that she forgot his presence. So, when Snape spoke again, she startled in surprise.

"What are you doing?" he asked for a second time.

Was he playing cat and mouse with her? Hermione looked at him with pleading eyes. "Just experimenting…"

"You don't know how to play, do you?" More than a question, it was a statement, and a sarcastic one.

"Er, no," she immediately admitted. "I have never learnt. Just watched Ron and Harry, most of the times."

"Ah, yes! Our two perfect strategists!" He smiled his ironic smile.

She tried to counteract his arrogance, whispering meekly, "Well, Ron actually won an important game at the end of our first year…"

As Snape seemed confused, she reminded him.

"Professor McGonagall's chessboard… protecting the Philosopher's Stone…"

"Oh, that! It was an easy game. Otherwise, how could a first year – and not particularly gifted - even think to have a chance?"

"You are probably right," Hermione replied with an acquiescent tone. Everything to avoid a quarrel, that evening! "However, Ron taught me the few notions I have and, as I will play by myself, I suppose it won't mind."

Snape didn't reply, and after a few moments of wait, she went back to her game. She moved a white pawn, then a black one, then she paused to ponder the situation. Then more pieces followed, and finally she released the bishop. And, at that point, she heard his voice again.

"This way you are exposing your queen."

"But I am going to protect her with the rook," Hermione tried to justify herself.

"No, no, no!" Snape answered. "The problem, when you play against yourself, is that you know your intentions in advance. You are just favouring the black pieces."

"Well, somebody should win sooner or later," she joked, but he was serious.

"Let me show you," he declared.

Alarmed, she said, "I don't want to bother you. You are marking."

"Marking can wait," he replied, and Hermione couldn't but suppress a smile.

"Perhaps we could play a sample game?" she proposed.

Snape hesitated just for a moment. "Why not?"

…

They moved their pieces. Professor Snape was ready to explain and describe strategies while giving her continual suggestions. He seemed to like chess very much. Another skill he had never revealed, and Hermione wondered how many others were concealed in his brain and in his heart.

Soon the game was over. He had forced her king to retreat in an unprotected position, and she couldn't figure out any escape. She watched him helplessly. He shook his head in condescension.

"You should have moved your knight!" he declared with a smirk.

"How? I don't understand." She hesitated, keeping the piece suspended over the chessboard. Snape wrapped her hand with his long fingers and gently moved hand and piece to the correct place.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "How clever! Thank you."

Then she blushed.

He cleared his throat.

"As I was saying, interesting pastime. Perhaps you would like to try a real game now?"

Hermione lost ignominiously. But, watching his face so absorbed in explanations and totally forgetful of his previous rage, she smiled inwardly. Perhaps, after all, she wasn't such a terrible strategist.


	18. Tuesday - Day 17

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Tuesday - Day 17 – Doubts**

That afternoon, when he arrived, Professor Snape carried several plastic bags but handed her only the smallest one. The other four contained mineral water bottles, and looked decidedly heavy. Worn out from the long walk in the snow, and shivering as a reaction to the comforting heat of the house, he put them on the floor and took a deep breath, trying to recover his forces. She considered him with a concerned look while he took off his cloak – he was dressed so ridiculously lightly for that weather!

She watched him in apprehension, but he scowled and shook his head in denial at that timid attempt to help him. With a disdainful gesture, he indicated the door of the kitchen to her, and there she went obediently.

As always, she opened the bag to collect and divide the different items. But that time, she had an unexpected surprise. Three beauty products, with a rigorous black packaging, had been carefully inserted in a separate carton as if to hide them: a shampoo, a conditioner and a polish. And all for oily hair.

She lined them up on the table and stared at them in perplexity. So it seemed that he had abandoned the wizarding beauty products for the Muggle version, and she wondered why he had made such a decision. No time to go to Hogsmeade, perhaps? Or an obligated purchase, since he was visiting a Muggle supermarket every day? Or perhaps… perhaps he had finally accepted the unspoken suggestion she had planned for him when she had left her own products exposed in the bathroom, several days before?

That final thought was flattering, but she could not linger on that fascinating question; he entered immediately after, and his tired expression instantly changed into one of irritation. She turned to watch him, a look of total innocence in her eyes, a sudden knot of panic in her stomach.

"How kind of you to notice, Professor!" she improvised, perceiving the familiar warmth of his anger alarmingly diffuse in the room. "I had just finished my shampoo."

He hesitated, blushed his sickly blush, then forced himself to answer. "I'm sorry. Those are for me."

His face became grave again. "I could have bought a shampoo for you, if you had asked me this morning," he remarked with a frown, but she understood that he was relieved at having found a way to switch the topic from his to her needs. "You have become incredibly distracted lately. However, I can buy something tomorrow."

She should have been grateful for the opportunity and stop that dangerous conversation. On the contrary, encouraged by his controlled reaction, she dared push her luck a bit further; so, she took a bottle in her hand and smiled at him even more innocently. "I thought you bought your products in Hogsmeade."

He released a deep breath and said grudgingly, "That's what I normally do, yes. But this afternoon…" he paused and fumbled for words, concluding awkwardly, "this afternoon, there was no time. And anyway, better to avoid wizarding items, these days. They could leave a track when used."

Suddenly, he seemed to remember his role.

"Anything else you would like to know?" he questioned with his usual sarcastic tone. "Pray, feel free to ask. Nothing more enjoyable for a tired man with an empty stomach than having an amiable chat after a long, distressing walk in the snow."

She couldn't afford to say anything else after those words, so she handed him the products, and then she watched him turn and go out with his precious load while an immense smile opened on her face.

…

The evening went on without other remarkable episodes. He was evidently tired, and she was experiencing an ever-increasing feeling of sympathy. When he was so calm and controlled, it was easier to see the good side of him. And even to be concerned.

So she did her best with the food, and when they sat for dinner, she noticed that he was watching her furtively, exactly as she was doing with him. However, he was strangely quiet for the whole dinner, and unusually kind. He even brought his own dishes to the sink—normally he didn't move a finger—and helped her clean the table.

When everything was finished, he asked her if she would like to play chess.

She refused as gently as she could, declaring that she wasn't feeling well. He could hardly hide his disappointment. However, he managed to handle his feelings, and wished her a goodnight.

She watched him retreat to his room and sighed. She would have been happy to play.

But he looked very tired. He needed a rest, and refusing to play was the only solution she had been able to figure out to induce him to go to bed early.

She tried to console herself that she had acted for the best.

An argument could always start even when playing chess, and that would spoil an evening that had been an oasis of peace after days of storms while destroying his—and her—hopes of a relaxing, regenerating rest.

Furthermore, to be honest, he wasn't the nicest of companions.

So why was she regretting her decision so much now?

* * *

_**NOTE**__: __This chapter is very short, I know it (and I can feel the disappointment of those of you who keep asking for more), but there is a reason. It's like taking a deep breath before diving into the sea. We have reached... well, THEY have reached the middle of the month, and from now on, things will begin to get more and more complex. So, today just relax and prepare yourselves for the ride :)  
_


	19. Wednesday - Day 18

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers__, and a question: is the rhythm of the new installments too quick for you? Would you prefer more days between a chapter and the other? I have tried to reproduce real life, but after all, this is a place of fiction. So, please let me know._  


**Wednesday - Day 18 – Moon Watching**

Wednesday morning, the sun was finally back in all its glory, and the little house and the wood near it looked like an illustration in a fairy tale again.

In reverent wonder, Hermione contemplated the sight through the window of the living room while her heart tightened with desire. Oh! How much she would have liked to go out and enjoy the peace and the beauty of that immense whiteness! But that pleasure was forbidden to her, and she desolately shook her head: she had already made a mistake once and she wouldn't repeat it twice.

She sighed with regret.

She sighed again.

Then she left the window and went to clean the bathroom.

…

The evening was as beautiful and serene as the morning had been. The stars twinkled in a velvety sky, and the world was suffused by a peaceful sensation, as if horrors like the Dark Lord had never existed.

Professor Snape arrived a bit earlier than usual, carrying two heavy bags of supplies. Hermione wondered how much food he was still planning to buy – the quantity stored on the shelves was growing alarmingly! How many days was he supposing they would spend in that damn house?

Dutifully, she crossed the room to meet him and take the bags, but Snape declined her help, asking with his characteristic ironical tone, "Do you feel better today? I intend to play chess this night, and I hope you won't deny me the pleasure of your company."

Hermione smiled meekly and assured him that it would be a pleasure for her as well. But it was a lie: her heart was sitting once more by the window, wallowing in the overwhelming desire of going out and flying away, finally free. Of course, those feelings needed to be silenced, and she did it resolutely by going to the kitchen. After all, she had a task to carry out, so she served the meal as her duty required.

...

The dinner was acceptable; at least, he didn't complain. Hermione had even prepared a chocolate pudding for dessert, and Snape demonstrated how much he had appreciated her idea by devouring his portion.

How greedy he was, Hermione thought with a smile. Her mother was always scolding her father for being a voracious chocolate-addict. How many times she had teased him, saying that gluttony was a cardinal sin in a dentist and threatening to send him to a health farm! Well, professor Snape could surely join her father there… Except that he remained so thin, in spite of all the chocolate he might eat!

After dinner, they went to the living room. The wizard immediately took the chessboard and sat at the table, a look of anticipation on his face. In a few instants, he had the pieces set, and was eagerly waiting for her to make the first move. Which Hermione hurried to do, in an effort to be kind, but her concentration had already vanished.

From the window, the moon was calling her, round, immense and melancholy in the starry sky. Unconsciously, the girl sighed, and her hand hesitated. Snape frowned and declared in a warning tone, "I hope you are not going to disappoint me, Miss Granger! With a brain like yours, you simply MUST be a good player!"

Called so imperiously to her duty, Hermione sighed again, tried to concentrate, then moved her rook in a half-hearted attempt to menace his queen. A few minutes and a few moves after, the game was over. Snape had won, but there was no satisfaction on his face. Instead, he was darkening more and more with disillusionment while she, realising his change of mood, was uselessly fumbling for something to say.

Finally, Hermione proposed at mid-voice, "Perhaps a new game?"

"No!" Snape sharply. "There is no pleasure in this diversion. You can stop indulging me with this air of martyrdom, because I don't need this kind of sacrifice!" His fist hit the table with a loud bang. "I'm going to my room to mark the parchments now, a much more enjoyable activity than watching you staring and sighing at the window."

This said, he got up irately, but instead of going in his room, he paused and watched her. Hermione was obstinately keeping her head down, and at that sight, the man seemed to surrender.

Slowly, he walked around the table and went near her. Hermione looked like she was lost in a trance so, when he placed his hand on the back of her chair, she awakened with a little jump.

"Sorry," she stammered and watched him with a hint of fear, "I didn't mean… what were you saying?" she finally asked, a pleading look in her eyes.

Snape bent to stare at her. "Do you really miss the world outside so much?" he asked slowly.

Hermione lowered her head again without a word. A tear suddenly trickled down on her cheek, and when the round drop fell on the wooden surface of the table, she couldn't conceal her unhappiness anymore. Snape frowned, and she could feel hot waves of irritation expand in circles from his body, so near to hers.

Then he too sighed. "Would you like to go out and… and enjoy the sight?" he finally asked in a disconcertingly quiet tone. The girl watched him while incredulity, hope and anticipation brightened her face. Unable to answer, wiping her cheek, she nodded and waited expectantly.

Snape rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers nervously on the table, still pondering a decision. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Very well, then. As you like it."

Hermione continued staring at him, not daring to believe her ears. Only when he asked her nervously, "So? Did you hear me?" she hurriedly got to her feet and stammered, "T-thank you, sir."

He watched her, a bit uneasy before the evident joy in her gaze. Then he ordered, "Put on something warm, you silly child. It's awfully cold, outside."

…

Snape removed the snow from a part of the fence under the porch, and they leaned on it. In spite of his warning, the temperature was surprisingly mild, probably because there was no wind at all. And the sight was so enchanting! The moon was glowing placidly, the snow was reflecting that quiet, bluish light, and the wood seemed to gently breathe in unison with them. Hermione felt so immensely at peace. How long had she been deprived of those simple but priceless joys? When would they be returned to her?

Her hands tightened firmly around the wooden banister as if she wanted to convince herself that everything was real, that the moon was high and shiny as it had always been, and that she was effectively there.

Snape was standing quietly near her. Hermione perceived his presence as a comforting protection, and for a moment, she desired that she could speak to him as if they were friends, not only teacher and student. There had been other times in the previous days when she had felt that odd sensation, but never as strong as this evening.

She was still lost in meditation when he said, "You seem to love the moon very much."

"Isn't it beautiful?" Hermione smiled, emerging from her haze.

"Not all your friends would share that opinion. At least, one of them."

"My friends?" she asked in confusion. Then a light lit in her mind, and she turned to look at him with sudden vehemence.

"You mean Professor Lupin!" she stated angrily.

"Exactly," Snape replied coldly. "We are lucky that he is not with us tonight. Though I have already had the pleasure – twice in my life – of meeting him when he was in his enjoyable… moony state. And you were with me the second time, weren't you? Amusing situation, don't you agree?"

Hermione clenched her fists, forgetting prudence.

"You can't forgive him, can you, though it's not his fault?" she asked passionately. "How can you be so cruel towards a man who is suffering such a terrible fate? Whatever he might have done to you, to us, he didn't choose it voluntarily."

"Are you sure?" he replied, and a crease formed on his forehead. "Well, don't you think that he showed a great deal of arrogance by going around on a full moon night without taking precautions, risking the lives of those around him in such a thoughtless way?"

He tightened his lips with disdain and added, "Though he always was like that, he and his even more thoughtless friends."

Snape had looked at her with a defiant look, and Hermione was ready to take up the challenge. Her voice trembled with the effort of controlling her anger.

"I know what you mean. But if you hadn't tried to stop him and Sirius that night, perhaps the Dark Lord wouldn't be back now! Did you ever reflect about your own mistakes, Professor?"

He paled horribly, and she feared that she had gone too far in her indignation. The girl swallowed but she didn't apologise; she just crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, waiting for the storm to burst.

But Snape too was evidently making a terrible effort to control himself, so he spoke only after a few moments.

"Unlike your most revered friends, Miss Granger, I have my mistakes continuously before my eyes because I don't want to make them again. Did you ever think of how many possibilities there were for your friend Lupin to harm someone during his stay in your third year?"

Hermione watched him in confusion and resentment. What was he blathering about? Professor Lupin! That kind-hearted man! How could he ever think of harming anyone? But Snape didn't give her the time to retort.

"Let's just consider that famous night. He said he wanted to help you, but he didn't even think of taking his Wolfsbane before coming to your rescue! And so, obviously, he transformed, putting those he intended to save in mortal danger. Have you ever thought of what an unchained werewolf could do in a whole night? How many unaware people could he bite scot-free?"

He paused, then continued with contempt. "And about your rescue! Had we not been luckily helped by fate – and I suppose by Professor Dumbledore, though I still haven't figured out "how" – we would be all dead now. Silly, arrogant, unrepentant, spineless idiot!"

She lost her temper and reacted with fury.

"You are always putting the blame on him! But again, what about you? You refused to let him explain! You knew that he was a werewolf. You even admitted that you were bringing him a goblet of potion. So! Why didn't you take the potion with you? Didn't you make a huge mistake as well? Haven't you been as guilty as he was, with your irresponsible behaviour in the Shack?"

"You seem to think that I am extremely impulsive in my actions, Miss Granger." Snape too crossed his arms in a defensive move. "Very well, I'll admit my mistakes. But I think that mine are much more excusable than Lupin's, because I went there ready to face him. It was too late to administer the potion, but I had a wand… or better, I would have had one if you and your friends hadn't so kindly blasted me against a wall."

He paused, panting with emotion.

"Can you imagine my horror when I saw Potter in happy conversation with the man who had betrayed his mother?" His eyes blinked, and he rushed to correct himself. "With the traitor who had sold his parents to the Dark Lord?"

"Sirius hadn't deceived them!" Hermione interrupted him.

"But I couldn't know that!" he replied.

"Because you didn't care to listen!" she cried angrily.

Snape took a deep breath and clenched his fists to check his emotions. When he spoke, his voice was low and full of repressed anger.

"I have already admitted my mistake. But now please consider my reasons. I had been listening to Lupin's explanation, disguised by Potter's Invisibility cloak, and what I heard filled me with disgust. Lupin thought Black a murderer, yet he didn't tell Professor Dumbledore that Black had Animagus abilities, even after Black had twice invaded the school and menaced a student… in this last case, your friend, Ronald Weasley."

Hermione tried to reply, but he stopped her by raising a hand.

"I know what you want to say! Black wasn't effectively looking for the boy. But we couldn't know what he had in mind at that time. We were all convinced that he was searching for Potter, and even Lupin didn't doubt it. Yet, though persuaded of Black's dangerousness, Lupin never said a word about the many secret entrances to the castle, that were unknown to any other living creature except him and, above all, his friend, Black: a piece of information, you understand, that would have made the difference."

"For a whole year, Lupin kept silent about the power of the map he and his fellows had drawn in their youth. Not only had he denied his knowledge even to my explicit question, but confiscated the map from Potter and kept it for his own use, thus concealing a perfect way of controlling the situation to Professor Dumbledore."

His voice rose more and more passionately.

"But let's forget about these faults. Let's admit that only his natural good heart and a miscalculated affection for an unfortunate friend prevented Lupin from informing the Headmaster and submitting these facts to his judgement. Whatever his excuses, there is still something that remains unforgivable for me: that night, Lupin not only neglected to collect and drink his potion, but even when he was reminded of the danger, he took no action to prevent himself attacking the students who were committed to his charge."

Snape turned to look savagely at her, a dark glow in his eyes.

"Do you think I could act like he did? Do you believe I could be so irresponsible?"

He took her wrists in his hands, pulling her close to him. His voice sounded agitated and begging at the same time. "Do you really think I could toy with your life?"

Hermione lowered her head, a tumult of emotions in her heart.

"It's strange," she murmured. "Strange and painful. I never saw things this way." She bit her lip with the effort of finding a reply. "But Professor Lupin is a friend… and we don't want our friends to be at fault."

His lips curled in a bitter expression.

"Of course," Snape stated coldly. "I forgot. He is your friend while I am only your jailer."

He released her, a bit brusquely.

"Forgive me then," he added harshly, "for spoiling your enjoyment. Please keep watching the moon and forget my words."

He turned his shoulders and resolutely walked to the opposite side of the porch. There he stood, folding his arms with a resentful expression; then he leaned against the fence and stared at the sky with unseeing eyes.

Hermione considered him for a long moment, then raised her head at the moon as if asking for help while many confused thoughts chased in her mind. The accusations professor Snape had brought against Lupin had been cruel, shocking eye-openers. She had never considered what had happened at the end of her third year under that unusual perspective. Her heart was pained, because she felt she was being unfair to her friend; but her mind was aching even more while she slowly acknowledged the truth of those revelations.

The girl turned to stare at him, a dark figure wrapped in bitterness while standing fiercely in the shadows, and more emotions surged in her soul: remorse, for having been so unjustly biased against him; regret, for having denied him her confidence; sorrow, for having underestimated his commitment.

Cautiously, Hermione reached him. She would have liked to lay her hand on his arm in a gesture of friendship, but she didn't dare. So, she spoke to his stiffened back.

"I don't consider you my jailer," the girl began uncertainly. "Perhaps I did at the beginning, but it's long time since I've changed my mind. I know you are protecting me. I've never found the courage to say it before, but I am grateful for what you are doing for me. Immensely grateful."

She took a deep breath. Expressing her feelings in words was hard, but she tried.

"And there is another thing that I have never said before, and that I would like to say now: I have been honoured to be your student. But I would be even more honoured if some day you would call me a friend," she declared bravely.

Slowly, Snape turned to look at her. The clefts between his brows had deepened.

Hermione swallowed in fear, but didn't draw back. "Would you?" she whispered.

The wizard considered her for a very long moment.

"That can only happen the day you've learned to play chess decently," he finally growled, and her heart opened. Timidly, she held out a hand to him, a hopeful look in her eyes. Snape hesitated, then wrapped her fingers in his rough fingers.

"Well," Hermione said, and a radiant smile brightened her face. "Then I think it's time to play again."

* * *

_**Note**: sorry, lately I have been leaving a lot of notes, but I think that, in certain cases, some clarifications are needed, especially when what has been written might turn out to be controversial for those who read it. _

_So: I have always found Lupin's behaviour __during his year as a professor at Hogwarts_ a bit irresponsible, and I consider totally absurd what happened in the Shrieking Shack. Why Lupin, though reminded of the danger, didn't take any precaution? I still don't have any answer, but I took the liberty to let Severus express my doubts. Of course, I don't mean to open a discussion on this subject. The ones given in the chapter are only my opinions, and I don't want to impose them on anybody else. 


	20. Thursday - Day 19

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers. Thank you also for your answers to my survey. I'm happy to see that you enjoy the story._

**Thursday - Day 19 – Of Fathers and Daughters**

"_Thursday_," Hermione thought, opening her eyes and smiling, happy to know that the week was approaching its end. Soon she would have company for two entire days, and though the company was represented by her professor's dark figure, she was beginning to feel at ease with him.

Then, in an incongruous progression of thoughts, another very peculiar reflection hit her: Christmas too had to be approaching. This was the nineteenth day she was passing in that damn house, and Professor Snape had told her that they were in December. Holidays at school had just started, so the big day must obviously be near!

A sweet feeling made of joyful memories and tender emotions enwrapped her heart, reminding her of smiles, ribbons, carols and garlands. And, of course, presents: gifts chosen with love and happily found in the morning, under a tree when she was at home or before her bed when she was at Hogwarts.

The longing for those warm, cosy sensations grew irresistibly strong in her chest, and Hermione hoped that, though she was secluded and in a dangerous situation, the magic of the festive season could once more make a miracle and renovate its brightness, even if for just one day.

Losing herself in her serene fantasy, the girl felt another suggestion pulling gently at her heartstrings. Why not prepare something for Professor Snape, a present that would express her gratitude and appreciation in a nice and more tangible way? The idea was appealing in its implications. But even more appealing - and a grin opened on her face – would be the look of deep surprise that would certainly appear on his face.

The knitting needles and the yarn suddenly came to her mind, and a plan began to take form. She would knit a sweater, something warm and discreetly black that he could wear during his coming and going from Hogwarts. The idea filled her with joy, and Hermione decided to begin her task on that same morning while he wasn't there to watch.

Time passed quickly while she checked the yarn, tried to calculate the stitches and squeezed her brain searching for a design that wouldn't be too difficult to make. After all, her previous experiences had been based only on the house-elves' tiny sizes, and there were no fashion magazines in the house that could help her with models or instructions. As soon as she concluded her calculations, Hermione decided that she needed more black wool, so she resolved to write a message to Professor Dumbledore and ask for a supply, obviously praying for him to keep the secret, otherwise her surprise would be spoiled. But the letter would have to be carried by Professor Snape, and that raised a problem: her suspicious caretaker would surely enquire about her reasons for sending a message to the Headmaster.

Hmmmm… Perhaps she could tell him that it was a request for feminine necessities. That would hopefully put a stop to his curiosity.

Filled with a joyful excitement, happy to have found something to do, the girl triumphantly began her knitting. That evening, she would also have to cautiously find out when Christmas would arrive… Hoping that it hadn't yet passed without her realisation.

…

But the afternoon did not proceed as expected. Professor Snape arrived earlier than usual, and Hermione had to hurry and hide the formless beginning of his sweater in her room. Confusion and a vague sense of guilt for having done nothing else other than knitting for the whole day made her cheeks redden in embarrassment when she reached him in the living room to take the plastic bags he was carrying.

Snape looked at her suspiciously, and the girl stammered with an uncertain smile, "So early this afternoon..."

She stopped with an alarmed look, suddenly realising that her surprise at his untimely arrival sounded rude.

The line on his forehead deepened even more. He crossed his arms and asked, in that silky sarcastic tone that his students had learnt to fear, "Why should I delay my return here, when I can look forward to your warm hospitality and excellent cooking? But it is evident that these feelings are not shared. In spite of all your denials, it seems indeed that you prefer your solitude to the burden of my presence."

Alarmed for the turn the conversation had taken, Hermione hurried to reassure him, but her apologies served only to worsen his temper. His lips tightened in a thin line, and Snape silenced her with a disdainful gesture of his hand. Then he handed her the plastic bags and sent her to the kitchen with another curt nod.

From that moment, the situation began to slip irremediably out of control. It was too early to eat, but Hermione didn't know what else to do in the spare time before their dinner. She could not close herself in her room again and resume her knitting while that silent man wandered nervously around the house, but she wanted to stay away from him as he seemed to need only a small pretext to explode. Her agitation grew heavier and heavier: so, feeling extremely uncomfortable, Hermione finally retired to the kitchen, where she tried to busy herself in useless little tasks.

And then, the unimaginable happened.

…

A familiar yet unexpected noise came from outside. Surprised - more than that, shocked – the man and the girl exchanged glances, then turned their heads at the unmistakable sound of a motor approaching. With a worried frown, Snape reached a window and gazed out, keeping himself carefully hidden behind the curtains. Hesitantly, she joined him, and they both gasped in unison at the surprising sight that suddenly met their eyes.

A motorbike was boldly crossing the fields in front of their garden. The man driving the engine seemed to be a bit reckless, but at the same time, he was steering with great ability. Skilfully, he avoided the bumps and the holes of the ground, stopping the vehicle just before the little wooden gate in the fence. Then he jumped down with agility and took off his crash helmet. The dying rays of the sunset illuminated a blond head of hair, and with a weird feeling of relief, followed by sudden panic, Hermione recognized Robert, the boy who had entered her existence only a few days ago.

Professor Snape also seemed to have understood who their visitor was, because his eyes sparkled and he murmured, choking the thunder in his voice, "The young idiot you told me about?"

Hermione watched him with pleading eyes and lowered her head, nodding in confirmation.

"Persistent, isn't he?" he continued coldly. "Taking the trouble to make such a long ride in the snow to visit you…"

An icy pause followed.

"I admit I have undervalued the power of your charm, Miss Granger." His tone was heavy with sarcasm. "But this is a kind of magic that, unfortunately, I never considered worthy of my attention."

Hermione blushed. His voice was dripping malice with every word, and she felt confused and hurt. Then they heard the young man call loudly and joyfully.

"Jane! Jane! Are you there? It's me, Robert!"

She paled at the sight of rage spreading across Snape's face and murmured wearily, "What… what should I do now?"

He smiled sarcastically. "It's too late to pretend we are not inside. The chimneypot is smoking, and the light of the candles is easily visible from outside."

"So?" she asked, feeling ashes in her mouth.

"Thankfully, the young imbecile is a Muggle and obviously harmless. However, he is an annoying occurrence. Find a useful way to employ your charm by dismissing him without raising suspicions. I'll be watching you from inside, but don't count on my help unless it's indispensable."

His voice dropped bitterly. "I suppose it won't be too difficult for you to fool a man."

The girl felt a twinge of indignation but she didn't reply. Determinedly, she took her jacket and went to open the door.

"Hello! How are you?" Robert brightened as soon as he saw her appearing under the porch. "Remember me, I hope?" he continued without giving her time to answer. He was evidently sparkling with joy. "You haven't come to visit us, so I thought I'd give you a surprise. How is it going? Enjoying your vacation?"

He entered the garden and looked at her with a big smile that exalted the beauty of his features. Suddenly, Hermione found that meeting that young man wasn't so horrible after all. He looked so nice, honest and handsome! And, above all, he sounded exactly who he was: a boy who had a strong interest in a girl. And the girl in question felt decidedly flattered, before remembering her situation.

"Cold, uh?" Robert went on merrily. "I admit I was afraid you might have left already. But here you are! Fantastic! Would you be free this evening?"

"Well," Hermione said hesitantly, overwhelmed by the torrent of words she remembered too well. "Thank you for coming, Robert, but I'm afraid that…"

"No, no, no, no, don't say anything! Let me explain to you first!" he exclaimed and his smile widened even more, if possible. "There is a big feast down at the village. I suppose you don't know it, but every evening of the week before Christmas they hold a special celebration: dances, music – good music, not the country sort!– and a lot of food and amusement. Would you like to go with me? I can take you there in our jeep. It will be fun! My sister is coming too. See, I have brought a program for you, so you can show it to your parents. Okay, I imagine that today is too late, but what about tomorrow?"

Hermione paled. It was worse than she supposed, and the boy looked very determined.

"Well, as I was telling you, I… I don't think I can," she fumbled for words. He watched her in deep consternation, and she imagined his thoughts: what could there be so important as to keep a girl far from a feast, in that desolated land full of snow?

"Oh, come on, Jane!" Robert pleaded. "I'm sure you will like it! Don't you trust me?""

He looked hopefully at the house. "Let me speak with your mum and dad!" he offered, then he smiled again his charming smile and took a comically proud air. "I'm a good boy, you know? Parents are always fond of me. You'll see, no trouble at all."

The moment had arrived.

"Please," Hermione said, "you don't understand. I am not here for-"

But he cut her off impatiently with a wave of his hand.

"Let me talk with your dad," he repeated, and resolutely advanced towards the house.

"Robert!" she cried, and all her possible inventions crumbled in a heap. "I have no dad to talk with! I am a married woman!"

He widened his eyes and, for a moment, she saw herself exactly as he was seeing her: a girl with bushy hair and round hazelnut eyes.

"W-What?" he exclaimed and tilted his head to consider her with a wondering frown. "You are joking! That's not possible, you are too young!"

Right at that moment, Professor Snape opened the door and stared at Robert with his best professorial scowl. The man had taken off his Hogwarts robes and was wearing only black trousers and a white shirt, in an attempt to look as much Muggle as possible. Seeing him dressed so improperly for that cold weather made Hermione shiver unconsciously, and suddenly she realised that he must have heard every single word they had pronounced, given the enthusiastic tone of the boy.

"Yes? How can we help you?" Professor Snape asked in that chilling tone that had frozen generations of students.

"Oh, ehm, er, good evening, sir. My name is Robert McGovern and I would like to invite Jane to… to a… ball." In spite of all his boasted courage, Robert was visibly stammering.

"Very kind of you indeed," Snape answered with cold courtesy and an even colder smile. "But I believe that my wife would prefer to stay at home. The evening is getting late, and she has a meal to prepare."

His eyes rested on the pale girl in the snow.

"I think that the oven is ready, dear," he declared lightly, but Hermione could perceive the immense effort he was under to control himself. "If you would be so kind as to say goodbye to this gentleman and come inside with me…"

He inclined his head to the boy with a poisonous glare. "Thank you very much again for your kindness, Mr. McGovern. Now, if you would excuse me…"

He went back into the house, leaving two speechless figures at his shoulders. The boy was the first to react. He turned to look at the girl, a horrified spark in his eyes.

"Is he telling the truth? Are you really married to him?" he breathed slowly.

Hermione awakened to reality and tried to play her part convincingly, but her mind was continuously reliving those surprising words. Had Professor Snape really called her "dear"? Of course, he was acting, still she savoured his kind expression. But the way he had glared at Robert! No wonder the boy was looking so shocked. Professor Snape had been too successful in playing irritated husband...

Robert was staring at her, her eyes colouring with regret and doubt.

"Are you staying with him of your own free will?" he whispered, bending his head close to hers. "Tell me the truth. I can help you."

At this point, the girl couldn't help but laugh to hide her agitation.

"Robert, please!" she replied, and the boy reddened and shrugged bitterly.

"Well, sorry then," he continued in a calmer way, still looking at her with a mix of emotions in which sadness, disappointment and even resentment seemed to prevail. "I would have liked to have a chance with you."

He shook his head and his expression became sombre. "Women are so weird. What did you find in that… in that…"

Now that there was no more hope, he was too frustrated to weigh his words. But as he was still a polite young man, Robert stopped before saying too much.

"I suppose this is the last time we meet," he declared with a bitter smile, stretching out a hand in a formal greeting.

He was only a boy, Hermione thought, saddened for his evident pain. It would have been nice to see him, in another world. But she… she was no more allowed to be a girl in _that_ world.

She shook his hand, and in a few seconds, Robert left, head determinedly lowered to check his path while driving in the darkness. She watched him until he disappeared in the distance, then turned and went pensively into the house.

Professor Snape was waiting for her, arms crossed and a furious expression.

"Time to eat, don't you think? Or should we expect some other lover to come and visit your _dad_?"

He seemed to realise what he had just said after that last word so spitefully pronounced. His fists clenched, his eyes looked around as if he were searching for a target: then he finally turned his shoulders and went sinking into the armchair before the fireplace.

"Call me when it's ready!" he ordered sharply.

The rest of the evening passed in mutual, resentful silence.


	21. Friday - Day 20

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Friday - Day 20 – Pride and Prejudice**

For the hundredth time, Hermione considered the piece of parchment she had in her hands. It was the famous message to Professor Dumbledore to ask for more black wool, but she wasn't sure she still wanted to carry on with her project.

Would Professor Snape accept a present - and such a present - from her?

Furthermore, did he really _deserve_ it?

Her brows furrowed, reliving the episode with Robert. Yes, the boy's visit had been a consequence of her previous imprudent behaviour, but she thought she had atoned for that… But no, evidently it wasn't enough, and Hermione felt hopeless. Though she was trying to do her best, according to her new life, and above all, to _his_ requirements, Professor Snape was continuously rejecting her efforts, exposing at the same time the worst sides of his character. Even more maddening, he seemed incapable of overcoming his opinion about her. For him, she was only a child, a spoiled child whom he needed to control. And for some strange, frustrating reason, the situation always ended by giving him reason.

Hermione sighed deeply. When she was in Hogwarts, she had thought she had some qualities, at least one or two useful ones… but here, when put to a test, she seemed to be only and ignominiously failing. Her self-esteem was crumbling. Her only valuable characteristic seemed to be that notorious secret hosted in her mind. What could it be? And why, when and where had she learnt it?

The girl heard the door of _his_ room open and close for the third time: her guardian had surely gone to pick up the books before leaving, and she smiled bitterly, thinking how well she had got to know his habits after those long, frustrating weeks together. But she wasn't prepared for the flood of memories that suddenly invaded her mind as if they were waiting for a moment of distraction. And amongst them, the unexpected, funny image of a not yet shaved Professor Snape, wearing a worn out dressing gown and fumbling to keep it closed while entering the kitchen.

How vulnerable he had looked! And she had probably been the only one allowed to get a glimpse of such vulnerability. Not even Professor Dumbledore had ever had the chance to see his formidable subordinate in similar moments…

Those thoughts had a calming effect, and finally Hermione decided. Resolutely, she entered the living room and waited for him to come out of his lair.

...

Professor Snape looked a bit surprised when he opened the door again, books under his left arm. But his face darkened immediately.

"Yes?" he asked coldly, and his eyes had a sinister glow. But Hermione had been somehow softened by her memories, and his anger didn't frighten her.

She presented him the roll of parchment with three simple words, "To Professor Dumbledore."

His brows furrowed dangerously, and she hurried to add, "Please."

Snape grabbed the parchment with his free hand. "A complaint?" he asked sarcastically. "Whining because you have finally realised that you and I are incompatible under the same roof?"

"Actually, a request for… feminine supplies," the girl replied, carefully giving the right hesitant intonation to her voice to show a bit of due embarrassment.

The man looked savagely at the roll as if he were going to crush it. Then he put it in his pocket, still looking at her with anger.

"A nuisance as always! But at least, this time you have been wise enough to give the burden to somebody else."

Snape strode towards the door and took his cloak, trying unsuccessfully to put it on, forced as he was to use only one hand. Silently, Hermione advanced and placed the cape correctly on his shoulders. He seemed to freeze and stiffen for a moment, then turned to look at her with a frightening scowl - an effect nevertheless ruined by his fumbling with the clasp of his cloak.

"Don't try to play your tricks with me, Miss Granger."

"Heaven forbid!" Hermione replied bitterly. His brows furrowed but she didn't seem to pay any attention to that alarming sign, as she kept staring at him defiantly.

"Miss Granger, you are decidedly irritating this morning," he warned her.

"Why? Because I've helped you?" she asked.

Snape was still struggling to fasten the clasp. In his temper, he had deformed the metal so that the object was resisting the pressure of his fingers, making his face redden in exasperation.

"You aren't a help! You are a trouble, a hassle, a pain in the neck, and the most distressing of my assignments!"

"Thank you for explaining your point of view," the girl replied coldly.

"Manners, Miss Granger!" he thundered but Hermione didn't withdraw. Very well, she was a trouble and a pain in the neck, and once more, he was shouting at her. Okay then, let him shout. What else could he do except shouting? What else? Send her back to her room? Send her back to Hogwarts? Merlin's beard if that wasn't exactly what she wished most! She would do everything to put an end to that intolerable situation, even encourage him in his irritation.

So, Hermione replied bluntly, "I didn't say anything rude," and as expected, Snape exploded. "Go to your room!"

Now, that morning she didn't want to obey.

"Are you going to lock me in?" She folded her arms. "Please do, otherwise, as soon as you leave the house, I'll be free to go out."

Hermione had obviously meant "out of the room", so she wasn't prepared to the reaction her declaration raised.

Snape turned to watch her, and his eyes became icy. "I suppose you are planning to meet that young idiot again," he snapped.

That was unexpected, but her confusion lasted only for a moment.

"Robert is no idiot!" Hermione replied irately.

"Of course!" Snape snorted. "He is tall and blond and blue-eyed, and that's enough for you."

Merlin! How and when had he noticed all those details? She stared at him open-mouthed, and he grew even more furious. "Is he going to visit you again? Did you promise him anything?"

Ah, that really was enough!

"You don't trust me, I see," Hermione replied angrily.

"Who would be so foolish as to trust a woman in these matters?" Snape retorted.

She glared back. His reactions were disconcerting. Why was he so scared of Robert's possible return? The boy was a Muggle, therefore he couldn't represent a danger!

But thinking more clearly, perhaps his continual coming and going in such a desert land could draw unwanted attention on their house… And what if the boy had already talked about her and her "husband" to his sister and friends? Somebody might get curious about such an odd couple… Somebody who had completely different reasons to investigate that very peculiar relationship.

Hermione suddenly felt very uncomfortable. How silly she had been, behaving in such a childish way with a man who was exposing himself to unimaginable risks to protect her! Yet, she didn't want to apologise, so she lowered her head while he kept struggling with his clasp.

"See the problems you have created!" Snape finally burst out as soon as he had won the object's resistance. "How can I leave you here alone? The chances of him coming back are too high to be ignored!"

Hermione paled. The prospect of a whole day with that enraged man was terrifying.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she murmured. "Please forget what I said. I'm sure that Robert won't come again. However, I promise I won't go out of the house. Neither will I let anybody in."

"I don't believe you, Miss Granger," Snape replied sharply. "Like every woman, you follow your emotions, so you simply can't be trusted."

He hesitated but anger brought him to the inevitable conclusion.

"Few things count for those of your sex. And loyalty certainly isn't at first place: women are so easily persuaded by sweet words and pretty faces!"

Hermione reddened in indignation. "How can you say such… such nasty things?"

Snape smiled his hateful sarcastic smile.

"Because I have been offered plenty of evidence, and not only from you," he concluded.

"Women are NOT as you say!" the girl cried, fuming in anger. Then, trying to hurt him as much as he had hurt her, she added venomously, "Though I imagine I should make an exception for Slytherins!"

Snape inclined his head and crossed his arms.

"Actually," he said slowly, "the woman I'm thinking about was a Gryffindor."

Hermione widened her eyes. "Ah!" she exclaimed, and backed a step, so to envelop his whole person in a disgusted glance. "That's why you hate us so much! Now I understand!"

His face altered in such intense emotion that she felt scared.

"No!" Snape said, and his voice trembled in a disconcerting way. "You understood _nothing_!"

He stopped abruptly and clenched his hands.

"I'm leaving, Miss Granger," he said in a quiet and therefore even more alarming tone. "Don't bother cooking for me this evening. I'll have dinner in the castle before coming back."

His voice became bitter. "Better see each other as little as possible."

Hermione felt suddenly exhausted. What was the good of hurting each other while a demonic monster was quietly waiting to exterminate them both? Wasn't that thought torture enough? Why did they need to add more pain to moments that could be their last ones?

Her head dropped.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't really mean what I said."

…

Hermione watched him go. As soon as he disappeared in the distance, she went to her room, threw herself on the bed and shed all the tears she had accumulated in those last hours, sinking her face in the pillow and sobbing like the desperate teenager she was. The storm took a bit to dry up, but finally she raised her head and focused her misty eyes on the objects in her room. No, nothing had magically changed in the meantime, and no fairy had appeared to offer her consolation. She had to find a solution by herself. But what could she do?

Well, first of all, she needed to recover her calm. And to reach that desirable state, she needed something quiet and boring to do. So, half-heartedly, Hermione took the needles and began to knit, hoping her brain would come out with something useful during that repetitive work. But soon she was forced to stop, as the wool had definitely ended. It was still the middle of the morning, and she felt depressed. So, once again, the girl turned to her favourite pastime and raised her eyes to the bookshelf on the wall; the last of those sugary romances she had begun to read in the first days of her segregation was still waiting to be opened. She picked it up and went to sit near the fireplace, ready to anaesthetise herself.

It would be delightful to say that it was a powerful story, with well-described characters and forcefully painted feelings… Unfortunately, it was only a cheap, unpretentious popular romance, where hate and love mixed in a whirl of passions; nevertheless, her mind clung to it with all the force of her saddened heart. Hermione read and read and read, and while she read, her brain relaxed in a sort of drunken stupor until she disciplined her feelings again. And finally, an idea lit in her mind.

"To the kitchen," she ordered herself.

…

When Snape arrived, Hermione was still in the kitchen and hurried out to meet him. A delicious smell followed her, filling the air with its enticing aroma. It was his favourite dish; she hadn't made it for days, and his eyes lit up for a moment before turning cold again.

"Good evening," she greeted, stretching out a hand to take the supermarket bags. But, strangely, he hadn't brought any. Hermione swallowed. Was that a signal of something worse to come? Whatever it was, she went on, playing the part the book had suggested her: the frail, innocent girl opposed to the courageous but severe and… and… – oh well, let's be sincere and say despotic! – man. The method never failed according to the heroine of the story, whose philosophy Hermione had absorbed in her afternoon reading.

"I… I hope you had a pleasant day," she said timidly, trying to recover the lines she had rehearsed in her mind before his arrival.

"I did, thank you," Snape replied composedly.

"It's still very cold, outside, isn't it?" the girl continued and blushed under his gaze. Surely, he ought to be surprised. She was behaving so unnaturally, especially considering what had happened in the morning! But he didn't even blink.

"Yes, very cold," he confirmed, watching her as if she was an interesting specimen.

Hermione inhaled, glanced at her clasped hands and capitulated, abandoning her self-imposed pretension. "Then… then perhaps you would like something to eat?"

"I was supposed to have dinner at Hogwarts," Snape reminded her calmly. Too calmly. Hermione felt the blood chill in her veins, and prepared for an explosion.

Instead, surprisingly, he tilted his head and added quietly, "But I haven't. So, I'll be happy to accept your invitation."

"Oh!" she said, and her voice wavered in relief. "I'm so glad! I had hoped so much that you…" She stopped, suddenly uneasy. "That you would change your mind," she ended bravely. Then, steadying her tone, she explained, "You see, I have prepared something special."

"Yes, I noticed. Of all the possible days, you chose exactly today." Snape stood for a moment, than considered, "I would call this bribery."

Hermione blushed even more vividly and bit her lip. "Cooking is the only way I have to show you how much I appreciate your… help," she murmured.

The wizard raised his brows in an ironical expression. "Oh, but there are so many others! Manners and a respectful silence would be adequate thanks, most of the times. But I'm glad you have chosen such an appetizing way to demonstrate your… appreciation."

They stared at each other, then with a wry smile, Snape offered her a small package, wrapped in a paper decorated with joyfully coloured lollypops.

"Before I forget. From professor Dumbledore, with his best regards."

Hermione took the package, that was obviously containing the yarns she had asked, and understood that he wasn't aware of its content. Suddenly, she felt exultant. The impending feast was evidently the last of his thoughts. Her gift would therefore be an unexpected surprise, and for a strange reason, that consideration filled her heart with an immense happiness.

"Thank you, Professor," the girl said, raising her face and smiling at him so joyfully that Snape frowned, taken by surprise. And, as always when he was surprised by her – and disconcerted – he blushed.

...

The quarrel of the morning seemed to have slipped in an obscure corner, and there was nothing else to add. So, they went to the kitchen, and the man sat at the table, a look of anticipation on his face. Hermione filled his dish and then paused to watch him eat, enjoying the first assaults of his fork. Odd as it may be, she felt elated and lost herself in that pleasant sensation…

Snape noticed her quietness, and arched an eyebrow in his typical interrogative air.

"Well?" he asked ironically. "Have I been caught defencelessly in a trap? Did you poison this food, counting on my appetite and credulity?"

Hermione awakened abruptly. "You will have to decide by yourself," she declared with a smile, and presented him a chocolate pudding.

He seemed impressed. "How shrewd! I suppose I'll have to take the risk," he replied. He savoured the sweet with evident pleasure. "From now on, you are allowed to poison me every evening, Miss Granger."

The atmosphere became relaxed. When everything was finished, Snape put his spoon on his scrupulously emptied plate and leaned back on his chair while she busied herself with reordering the kitchen.

"You have outdone yourself this evening," he said, toying with his napkin. "But what if you had been wrong? What if I had already had dinner in Hogwarts?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, carefully arranging the glasses in the sink. "I knew you wouldn't."

"But how could you be that sure?" Snape insisted.

"Oh!" she replied vaguely, stacking the dishes in an ordered pile. "Call it feminine intuition."

Her face reddened in panic as soon as she realised what she had said. Her eyes glanced at him then turned to the sink while she expected his temper to explode. Yet, seconds were slowly ticking away, and nothing happened. Hermione watched him again, her lips curling in a timid, embarrassed smile.

Snape returned her gaze with an indefinable expression.

"I thought you had lost the power to surprise me, Miss Granger."

* * *

_**Notes:** _

_1) I'm glad to receive messages that ask me to update soon. This means that those who wrote them like the story, so thank you very much. However, kind readers, I am updating every day. I believe that faster than this is impossible ;)_

_2) **amr**, I think we already met in another site whose initials are TPP. I would like to answer your comments, but you are not registered. Could I perhaps answer you somewhere else, more specifically using the PM of the other site?_


	22. Saturday - Day 21

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers. This time, I would like to thank especially the unregistered commenters, as it's impossible for me to reach them with a private message.  
_

**Saturday - Day 21 – Darkness**

The day had started differently from their usual routine. Being Saturday, Professor Snape should have stayed at home… but he had left in the morning, muttering something about a mysterious appointment in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, he hadn't explained anything.

Of course.

Hermione hated it when he didn't explain. She hated being kept in the dark. She hated being treated like a child who had neither opinion nor choice. So, she decided that what was valid for him wouldn't be valid for her. Saturday was their free day, and she wanted to relax… though even the sound of the word sounded ridiculous in their situation.

The best way to spend the morning would be a walk: but though the weather was enchanting and the sun was making snow and icicles glitter, she obviously couldn't go out. So, Hermione brought a tray of snacks near a window in the kitchen, and ate them there while watching the panorama, hoping to see a sign of life in that silent solitude. But there were only birds flying high in the sky, and no animal dared approach the little cottage and its lonely occupant. Predictable, but so frustrating…

She sighed. So, what was left?

Cleaning?

Cooking?

Knitting, obviously!

The girl sighed again: her gift was still trying to take shape. She was creating it by improvisation, so she was continuously adjusting its size, undoing and redoing what she had done like a modern Penelope. And yes, today she looked exactly like the faithful queen of Greek mythology, weaving and waiting patiently for her man.

...Her man?

Ah, what a weird situation! Hermione didn't know whether she should weep or laugh. But she opted for the second solution. With such a sun, there was no room for dark thoughts.

…

Professor Snape came back in the evening. At that point, she was so frustrated that even the prospect of an argument was appealing; but he didn't say anything that could lead to a quarrel. He entered the kitchen while she was stirring the soup with a ladle; he sat and considered the empty plate before him with an eager expression.

"I hope you have prepared something edible this evening. I'm very hungry."

"I trust you will like this," Hermione replied quietly, filling his plate. The soup was a do-it-yourself preparation that she had cleverly put together. Knitting had busied her till late, so she had found that convenient solution. Luckily he had brought a whole stock of those items! The aroma diffusing in the air was delicious, and she mentally thanked the canned soups' inventor.

Snape began to eat in silence, so Hermione sat and took her spoon, pleased by that evident sign of approval and by his quiet mood.

"I hope we will play chess afterwards," she then offered with a sincere smile.

He looked up at her with an interrogative gaze.

"I believe what you said," she said simply.

And at his even more bewildered look, she explained.

"The promise you made me… a-about being friends," the girl gulped and concluded awkwardly, worried that she had possibly broken that perfect harmony.

Snape scowled, but didn't reply and continued to eat.

Either the soup was effectively good or he was incredibly hungry, because Hermione filled his plate another two times before serving him scrambled eggs, tomatoes and bacon.

…

They were busy playing chess when his forearm unexpectedly started to burn. Snape flinched in sudden, violent pain and automatically put a hand on his aching flesh, tightening his fingers around it.

Then his eyes met hers. Incongruously, he seemed to apologise for the inconvenience that had so annoyingly entered their life again. But Hermione felt an immense terror chill her heart. What was happening? Why was the Dark Lord Summoning his followers so close to their previous gathering?

She considered him again, and her fear doubled. Snape looked so tired, and the weather outside was so cold! She felt hate and anger burn in her heart against the merciless tyrant playing so cruelly with the lives of his servants. But there was nothing she could do: she was as helpless against that evil power as he was.

The scene of his previous call seemed to repeat its horror. The wizard went to get his cloak and handed his keys to her. Once more, their eyes locked; trying to find something that could help him feel less lonely, the girl whispered, "I will wait for you."

Snape couldn't help a quick, ironical smile at that promise, and Hermione blushed, remembering how she had kept him waiting in the cold. But he didn't comment, just turned and went to open the door. She joined him, and they both stared at the quiet scene opening before their eyes. The snow was glittering under the moonlight. The night was beautiful, silent and calm, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yet, somewhere out there, invisible to everybody, a monstrous menace was lurking in the darkness. And the anguish both the cold and that thought were raising was unbearable.

Snape sighed then turned again to watch her, his jaw determinedly raised. For a moment, Hermione thought that he was going to give her another lecture, but he only said, "Be careful. No useless heroism. Keep the envelope at hand."

A lump in her throat, she repeated, "I will wait for you."

…

The hours of the night had never been so long and scary. Alone in that haunted house, Hermione waited in anguish, imagining all the possible developments and examining all the possible actions, following him with her mind and trying to figure out what the Dark Lord might want from his followers.

It was the middle of the night when Snape was back again. This time, Hermione didn't waste time in playing riddles. She had constantly checked the garden from the window, so she felt reasonably sure that no unpleasant surprises were waiting outside. After all, even an invisible man would leave footprints when walking on the snow… At least, that was what the girl hoped. So, when she detected a small black silhouette laboriously advancing in the snow, an intense feeling of joy and relief filled her heart. She opened the door and went under the porch, the envelope firmly held in her hand.

Snape saw her, and his expression immediately darkened. He hurried to make the last steps that separated him from the house, then grabbed her by the elbow and pushed her rudely inside, indifferent to her stifled cry. He closed the door with a sharp bang, then crossed his arms and glared at her. His face was a mask of weariness, but his eyes were sparkling with anger.

"What were you doing outside?" he hissed dangerously.

"I was waiting for you," Hermione replied. The last time she had made him wait in the polar cold, and he had – understandably – got angry. This time she had welcomed him with a smile, yet he looked even more furious. Really, was there a way to ever make that man happy?

But Snape had already burst out, his voice rising angrily in the tremulous light of the only candle in the room.

"Enough with this nonsense about friendship and other idiotic considerations!" he bellowed. "I am your guardian and you are my ward! That is all that counts, and there's nothing else to be added. You have been entrusted to my care. You must obey if you want to survive. I told you NOT to go out for any reason, especially when you are alone! What if I had been followed or Imperiused? You silly child! I should ask Professor Dumbledore to take you back to Hogwarts. You are going to blow our cover one of these days. Don't you realise how important you are?"

He was shouting and shaking in fury, and Hermione backed away while fear and anger once more clashed in her mind. The arrogant bastard! Yes, let's call Professor Dumbledore, and let him bring her back to Hogwarts and to her friends, two normal human beings who continuously made mistakes and didn't ask her to be perfect.

But then she caught a light in his eyes, a hidden anguish that made all his shouting and scolding only a façade to conceal something much more terrifying. Suddenly, the girl noticed a slight red gash on his cheek, the evident sign of a Stinging Hex. And those small bruises on his left temple, the alarming dark spot under his lower lip... Slowly, the trembling light of the candle revealed more and more details, and Hermione felt a chilling cold enter her soul.

"Something terrible has happened, hasn't it?" she suddenly asked while her eyes became expressionless in the effort of hiding her emotions.

Taken by surprise in the middle of a sentence, Snape stopped abruptly as if he had been hit; then he struggled to catch his words again, to recover his angry mood, but in the end, he sighed and looked only sad, sad and immensely helpless.

Silence fell; the darkness around the house had never seemed as ominous as it was in that hanging moment.

"We have been betrayed," Snape finally said, and Hermione paled in panic, feeling her knees go weak.

He had a dry smile.

"The Dark Lord has been informed about a potentially lethal secret that might endanger the success of his enterprise. As you can imagine, he could not stand the thought."

The girl felt her ears buzz, and the room began to spin around her. Snape watched her closely, that sad smile still on his lips.

"Thankfully, he doesn't know any other detail," he continued with forced calm. "Nobody in our assembly was able to gather the information our master was longing to hear. Not even your humble guardian, in spite of his closeness to Albus Dumbledore; a fault that can't be forgiven."

Eyes widened, Hermione stared once more at the marks that the Dark Lord's fury had left on her professor's face. Suddenly, her worst fears had become real, and she shivered in horror.

He spoke slowly.

"The hunt has just begun, and now you are definitely in danger."

"And you? What about you?" she whispered, a new terror in her voice.

He shrugged bitterly. "Don't worry about me. I have always been in danger."

* * *

_**Note:** _

_I'm sorry to see that my story is raising different, quite opposite reactions in my readers. Some are delighted while others are irritated or even angry with Snape and Hermione... poor, innocent creatures in the hands of this wicked author. _

_As I wrote to some of my reviewers, I created this novel following an idea that stemmed from my personal experiences about people and life. Being an old lady, I know very well that the kind of interaction described in my tale is not uncommon in real life. Even more in a fic, when a troubled man, with a difficult character and a painful past he still hasn't overcome, is matched with an intelligent, respectful and nice girl who has a good degree of understanding and empathy in addition to a penchant for helping people._

_I'd prefer to let story speaks by itself, but if you think that at this point an explanation of my vision is needed, please feel free to ask me and I'll post my reasons with next chapter. _

_I don't obviously expect everybody to like all my stories; however, I'm sorry if this one disappointed your expectations. _

_Thank you very much._


	23. Sunday - Day 22

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

**(A guy named Severus, a girl called Hermione)**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers, especially to those who answered my survey. It seems that you enjoy the story despite its flaws. That's good to know. Thank you again :) _

_The segment that follows is one of my favorite chapters.  
_

**Sunday - Day 22 – Disgusting**

Hermione was worried.

Hermione was extremely worried.

Anguished considerations had devoured her mind for the few hours that had divided dark from dawn in that horrid night after his revelation. She had tossed and turned in her bed, unable to find rest, disentangling thoughts that were becoming more and more frightening, making plans that revealed themselves to be completely worthless in the light of the day, and worrying about an entire world depending on that damned secret hidden in her mind.

But in that particular moment, Hermione was worried about Professor Snape. That morning, he had stifled a sneeze during their breakfast, and she had looked at him with apprehension. His eyes glowed with a feverish sparkle, and when he spoke, his voice had the unmistakable rasping sound typical of those getting a cold. Except for an insignificant difference: most people getting a cold were not usually tortured by a demonic monster.

So, Hermione was worried, and being worried, she would have liked to overcome the distance between student and professor and tell him to go see Madam Pomfrey for a check. But after a glance at his harsh features, she had renounced that idea with an imperceptible sigh.

Then she had realised, and brightened again. It was Sunday: surely he wouldn't go out after the awful events of the night before, so he would probably have time to recover his energies by staying in the warm shelter offered by the little cottage.

To be honest, she too had hoped for a break, as she was feeling extremely dizzy. The shocking news, the restless night, the increasing anguish, everything had conspired to upset her mind and wear out her body.

How well the girl understood Harry's burden now! Till that moment, she had been the Chosen One's loyal friend and counsellor: however, though she had shared his risks, she had only tried to help Harry survive a menace that was intended mainly for him. The Dark Lord was Harry's assignment and nobody else's. But now that that malignant power was focusing inexorably on her, Hermione felt a growing panic tighten her heart.

In any case, Harry had been given a hope; even if the prophecy would only reveal its inner implications at the end of his painful voyage into horror, at least he was allowed to fight for his life. While she… what could she do, buried in that lonely cottage in the snow? What had she done till that moment apart from cooking, cleaning, knitting and reading? Ah, it was so frustrating! There should be a way to thwart the Dark Lord's plans! For instance, she could create a diversion by disappearing from the magical world… What if she had concealed her presence by changing city, or country, or even continent?

Hermione was so desperately lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice his movements until Professor Snape took his cloak. At that sight, she froze.

"Where are you going?" Words formed that disrespectful question before she could even think to stop them. He turned to watch her.

"Manners," the man hissed. "I thought I warned you."

He frowned, in an effort to look as threatening as usual. But in the light of the morning, his face revealed only the ordeal he had endured and an immense exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologised. "But today is Sunday. I thought that you would stay…"

The rest of the sentence died on her lips, as she was going to say "at home". But, of course, it wasn't _home_. Though the cottage was their fortress and their refuge, it could easily turn into their trap, and perhaps into their grave. Certainly, he wouldn't define it as "home".

"Please, weren't you supposed to stay here?" she finally asked while her mind pleaded silently, "_With me. Protected. And protecting_."

Snape softened before her anxiety.

"I must see Professor Dumbledore and tell him about this latest development. But I will be back as soon as possible."

The girl lowered her head, acknowledging the inevitable yet feeling an obscure fear pervade her heart. Something evil was lurking outside, and she could perceive a demonic presence crawling silently in the snow, reaching their door, waiting patiently for a victim to open it, and then…

Hermione shivered violently. The lack of sleep was exacerbating her perception, but that was her last rational thought because her vision blurred, her knees went weak, and she staggered, trying to keep her balance.

But Snape was quicker. His hands took her wrists in a forceful grip.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed.

"S-sorry," she stammered. Her latent headache exploded like a firework, followed by mounting waves of nausea; for a moment, the world was tinged in red, then striped in green lines of hammering pulsations. Hermione shook her head, trying to chase away those throbbing sensations.

Snape watched her with his usual scowl and a hint of exasperation.

"Miss Granger, I must go. Every single second is crucial from now on," he warned her severely, still holding her wrists as if expecting her to collapse. "May I leave or are you going to faint as soon as I close the door after me?"

Her eyes met his, and the girl perceived the concern disguised under his sarcastic tone. Her pride awakened, and she straightened fiercely, freeing her hands from his grip.

"I will be well," Hermione said, surprised at her same firmness. "Don't worry."

…

The morning dragged itself.

Long.

Very long.

Incredibly long.

Never-ending.

And mortally exhausting.

Her brain was throbbing. Her body was aching. Each time Hermione turned her head, the objects in the room seemed to follow her movement in a stream, with a curious kinetic effect.

She had spent the first two hours waiting to see the door open again, not daring to lower her guard, anxiously checking the courtyard to discover possible intruders. But Professor Snape seemed to take his time, and Hermione felt irritated. What was he doing? Why hadn't he come back as soon as he had promised? Then she reflected. Surely he had many things to discuss with Professor Dumbledore. Plans to plot, strategies to decide. There was no need to worry.

Yet, the same suppressed anguish of the night soon began to corrode her mind. What if he had been followed? What if he had met their enemies on his way back? What was happening outside? How was Harry? And Ron? And her schoolmates? When was the last time she had thought of her friends? They seemed to have been forgotten in a corner of her brain, lately. Hermione felt guilty, and her mind began to create myriad possibilities… but every new one was worse than the previous.

Snape arrived for lunch, a pile of books in his arms. At that point, Hermione had given up hope to see him before dinner; her headache had increased to an intolerable level, and she was seriously considering putting herself into bed. So, her initial joy at seeing him slowly turned into dull resentment for being forced to prepare a meal while she would have preferred to be sleeping.

Then something unexpected came to refresh her determination. Hermione had always wanted to know, and Snape had always done his best to keep her in the dark. But this time he seemed anxious to talk. That was unusual. She couldn't miss the chance.

So, the girl decided to warm up a can of soup followed by cheese and ham sandwiches, the quickest recipes she knew. Snape didn't object nor cast any of his usual sarcastic comments, but sat in a chair in the kitchen and waited, his unsolicited supervision making her even more anxious.

Finally, they began to eat; he being busy with knife and fork, Hermione could look at him closely without provoking annoyed reactions. The marks inflicted by the Dark Lord were even more detectable than in the morning, and she felt a pang of pain. Unaware of her reflections, Snape started his explanation. "From now on, I won't go to Hogwarts every day like I did before."

The man filled his glass and seemed to study the liquid inside it. "The house mustn't…"

He glanced at her, cleared his throat and corrected himself. "_You_ mustn't stay here alone. We have enough supplies to resist a siege. Therefore, I will leave only if it's needed. And only when my leaving doesn't imply a risk for you."

Hermione savoured those words. Yes. She wanted him in the house. With her. She felt safe with him. He would find a way to help her in case of attack. He would watch her. He would protect her. Her lips curled in a smile, and she let her mind bask in those reassuring considerations.

Snape stopped his speech and looked at her with a frown.

"Miss Granger," he asked sharply, "are you listening?

Startled, the girl awakened from her trance.

"Yes, Professor," she replied immediately and blushed. No, it wasn't true. She had lost the majority of his last sentences, but that didn't matter. The only important thing was that he would be staying there.

…

The afternoon was even worse. Her head was literally splitting. At the end, all those days of tension were exacting their toll. A very heavy toll.

Hermione tried to distract herself. So, as soon as Snape took his books and went to his room, she retired to hers, silently locking the door. Then she sat on the bed and resumed her knitting. His jumper was almost finished, but with him around, she needed to hurry and be careful if she wanted to keep her present concealed till the last moment.

Though that joyful work didn't bring any relief to her physical pain, at least the girl reached her goal. Before dinnertime, she had definitely completed the three separated parts in which the jumper was divided. Too tired to assemble the pieces, Hermione decided that she would finish her work the morning after. Then, having everything ready, she would only need to discover when Christmas would arrive. From what Robert had declared when he had invited her to the party, she had assumed that the happy date would be one of the days of the upcoming week. With this hope in her heart, the girl went to the kitchen for another distressing round of cooking.

The headache had lessened, but it had turned into a terrible exhaustion. That evening, preparing dinner was even more difficult than it usually was, nevertheless Hermione managed to overcome the nausea that pervaded her at the sight of the food. The result was scarce even for the poor standards of the miserable cook she was, but Snape didn't protest. Yet, during the meal, she caught him watching her with a strange expression. His face had darkened, and she thought that he was repressing an increasing irritation.

Hermione felt even more anguished when she was forced to refuse their usual chess game. Snape looked evidently disappointed and, again, she felt guilty. She had spent her day warm and cosy in the cottage while he had been forced to go out and deal with an awful weather and potential dangers in spite of his unhealthy condition. His face was paler than usual, his eyes still had that feverish sparkle she had noticed in the morning, and his voice sounded even more hoarse and low. He had endured much worse sufferings than she had, so surely he was annoyed with her now…

But Snape didn't react at her stammered words of refusal as harshly as she had feared. He just nodded; then, wordlessly, he sat at the table, opened a book, and seemed to sink in its pages. Not daring to speak in that oppressive silence, Hermione took refuge in the old armchair's embrace. Hiding from his sight, she curled in it and rested her head in the softness that smelled of dust.

…

Hermione was lost in the snow. Everything was dark around her, and she couldn't see the cottage.

"Run!" Snape had shouted when the door had opened abruptly, and two masked figures had entered the house. Hermione hadn't even had the time to grab her coat. The cold was stinging, and she was trying to find her way in that immense obscurity.

So, in the end the enemies had found the cottage, right at the moment when its occupants were completely exposed. The envelope was in Snape's desk – too far to be reached - and Hermione had no wand. The wizard had extracted his, challenging the intruders with his ironical smile. Terrified as she was, the girl would have nevertheless tried to face the danger with him. But Snape repeated his order in a harsher, pressing tone. He sounded scared, and that had panicked her even more. So, Hermione had obeyed and run out in the dark while he raised his wand to stop their hunters.

Her pace slowed down at that memory. How was he now? Was he alive? Was he being tortured for his betrayal? Was she going to be tortured too? The girl was staggering and sobbing rhythmically now, and every sob pounded heavily in her chest, making her whole body shiver with pain. She couldn't defend herself: she was too exhausted and frightened to do anything anymore, and that white softness was cruelly but gently enveloping her limbs in a chilly blanket, offering her a final solution, a definitive solution. No more Hermione, no more secret…

Too late!

She felt the ominous presence behind her, and fell on her knees, unable to take a further step towards salvation.

Then two arms enfolded her slowly. Hermione tried to resist, but their hold was too strong to be opposed. Strong, yet strangely comforting. It was warm and somehow inviting, and she ceded, giving up the struggle. Perhaps death wouldn't be so horrible if offered with such mortal sweetness…

…

Hermione opened her eyes and found herself floating as if she were on a ship or in a carriage. A sensation of nausea mounted again, and she grabbed the soft material under her fingers, feeling disoriented.

Then she realised. She was being carried by Professor Snape. She was in his arms. And her head was resting on his shoulder!

At first, the girl felt an overwhelming sensation of relief. A nightmare, she understood in her haziness, it had been only a nightmare. For a moment, Hermione enjoyed the warmth of his body and the soft, hurried thudding of his heartbeats. Then she saw that Snape had already entered her room and was reaching her bed. At that sight, anger, pride, shame, suspicion, a thousand undefined feelings mixed in her head, and she reacted violently.

"Put me down!" Hermione ordered while embarrassment and confusion stirred an even more irrational rage. So, she wasn't allowed to enter his room while he could violate her privacy? How dared he?! And what had he planned to do, bringing her there in his arms?

"Put me down!" the girl repeated sharply, clenching the wool of his robes. Snape stopped and watched her with a strange expression, something that she had never seen before on his face. He looked surprised, then offended, then hurt, but in such a resigned way… As if he were expecting exactly that reaction from her.

Still trapped in his hold, Hermione stiffened, ready for an outburst, but the man didn't reply. Slowly, carefully, he put her down on her bed, and she immediately withdrew.

Snape had a bitter smile, then straightened himself and crossed his arms, backing a step as if to let her free.

"I thought you trusted me," he said quietly. The girl didn't reply, but kept watching him with suspicious eyes.

Snape sighed. "You were too tired, so you fell asleep in the armchair. Not a very comfortable place to spend the night."

He glanced at her. "I thought you would sleep better in your bed, so I tried not to wake you. But it seems that I somehow scared you, instead. I'm sorry."

The wizard didn't wait for an answer. His body made a half turn towards the door. He was leaving, and Hermione felt disoriented. And regretful.

"I... I... thank you, Professor," she finally managed to say.

Snape shrugged. "Good night," he replied, still with that bitter expression.

He had already reached the door when his hand stilled on the frame, and he turned to look at her.

"Miss Granger…" he hesitantly began.

Hermione raised her head. His eyes returned her gaze with disarming openness.

"Do I repulse you?"


	24. Monday - Day 23

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Monday - Day 23 – Musing**

That morning, Hermione woke up earlier than usual, though there was no need. Professor Snape wasn't going to Hogwarts anymore, and he surely couldn't have planned any other mysterious appointment with anybody else, included Professor Dumbledore: so, they could relax and wait for a more civilised hour to rise and have breakfast.

But her brain was hosting two persistent thoughts that were the reason for that untimely awakening. First, she needed to complete her gift as soon as possible. From now on, every day could be THE day, hoping that she had processed correctly Robert's information.

Second and much more troublesome, she could not sleep any longer. The thought of what had happened the evening before was still making her feel nervous. She had found herself in a very peculiar situation, and though she felt she had wriggled out of it almost acceptably, the episode kept returning to her mind with haunting reiteration. She simply couldn't push it to the back of her brain. And yet, there were no more reasons to worry! Or, at least, there were no more "reasonable" reasons…

Hermione sighed. Then she shook her head and surrendered. She knew the way her mind worked. She needed to do something to distract herself from those distressing reflections otherwise they would hound her for the whole day.

Thankfully, there was an easy solution. The girl had awakened early in order to complete a task, so she acted accordingly. She got up, opened her wardrobe and took out his almost finished jumper from the hiding place in which she had carefully concealed it.

Hermione considered it in the uncertain light of the candles. It would look nice, once she had attached the sleeves.

She draped it on the bed, and immediately corrected her definition. Perhaps "warm" would suit her creation better, she sadly thought, and sighed again. Unfortunately, she had no other alternative. It was that or nothing.

The girl sat on the bed and, using a thread of heavy black wool, she carefully began to connect the jumper's sleeves to the body. The work took her only a few moments, then she enwrapped her present in a coloured plastic bag that she had saved on purpose. Having no gift paper, it was the best decoration she could use. But once she had completed that operation, she felt a bit discouraged. Her package didn't look exactly like a Christmas present.

Then Hermione recovered her sense of humour and smiled. Professor Snape was not likely to be impressed by her gift, let alone by its wrapping. She sighed for the third time. Oh, well, she had done her best. Let's hope at least for his surprise.

Hermione tried to figure out his reaction, and again, her mind focused on the scene of the night before. There had been so many strange emotions clashing in her chest! She tried to analyse them calmly, though her thoughts kept coming out in a stumbling, disconnected way.

First of all, the shocking realisation that he had carried her in his arms. Now that the moment had passed, the girl began to relive the sensations she had experienced. It had not been unpleasant, she recalled, though she had felt extremely vulnerable…

Vulnerable and silly, she concluded after a moment. Yes, silly. Redness mounted her cheeks and she felt very embarrassed. Having a nightmare in the armchair! How ridiculous it must have seemed to a man who was exposed to the Dark Lord's fury every day!

And then, to be taken to her bed like a child! Hermione tried to collect her memories… Perhaps Professor Snape had tried to wake her, just like he had done a few days before when she had fallen asleep out of his door and dreamed of Bellatrix…

No, she recalled. That couldn't be. He had specifically said that he didn't want to wake her.

She paused, lost in that peculiar declaration. That was interesting.

He was concerned.

_He cared_.

Hermione blushed. For a strange reason, the thought had raised a warm wave of pleasure inside her chest, and for another strange reason, she determinedly changed the direction of her meditation.

So, what had happened after? Well, she had reacted. Violently.

The girl felt a bit uneasy. It wasn't her fault. He should have expected that. She was having a nightmare, and then she had awakened abruptly in his arms. His intentions were good, no doubt, but in the end, he was… he was a stranger. Though legally they were husband and wife, they were married only on paper. And certainly not by mutual choice.

However, it had been silly from on her part to react so fiercely. That could only mean that, in spite of what she had always declared, she still didn't trust him. Obviously, he had felt offended.

And then… then there had been those incredible words.

_Do I repulse you?_

Now, in hindsight, they seemed to suggest something completely different from what she had initially interpreted as resentment. Something that may imply that Professor Snape could want her appreciation. No, that wasn't the right term. Her… consideration, perhaps? Or her sympathy?

Whatever it was, those words had been so terribly saddening. He must have felt very lonely and very unbalanced to address such a question to the child she was.

In the end, she had succeeded in finding a comforting answer, though she didn't remember exactly what she had said. He had duly listened and then he had gone away, apparently reassured. Thankfully, the episode seemed to have ended there, in a triumph of apologies. Afterwards, Hermione had tried to persuade herself that she had done the right thing, and that everything had been clarified.

Well, it evidently hadn't. At least for her.

…

It was still early, and the house was immersed in a placid torpor. Hermione slipped out of her room very cautiously, as she didn't want to disturb him. He needed a rest. He deserved a rest. She wanted him to sleep as long and peacefully as he could.

To be honest, the girl also wanted to be alone for a while. She was still feeling a bit uncomfortable, and she was sure that Professor Snape would notice it. Therefore, he would react in his usual way: being caustic. Extremely caustic.

For a moment, Hermione wondered if it would be better for her to apologise again. Then she realised that reliving what had happened would only mean renewing their embarrassment. The mere idea was intolerable, and she promised herself to never mention that discomforting moment again.

So, she bit her lower lip and crossed the living room with quick steps, hoping to delay their meeting as long as possible.

But, as always, her wish didn't come true.

…

The door of the kitchen opened noiselessly and revealed a perfectly composed Professor Snape sitting at the table and reading a book. Hermione froze and held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

But nothing happened. The man only inclined his head in a greeting, acknowledging her entrance with disconcerting calm.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "You woke up very early today."

_You too_, Hermione was tempted to answer. But she didn't reply because she was considering his face with concern. He looked decidedly unwell. The cold was evidently progressing speedily. His voice was low and rasping, and there were black circles under his eyes. And the nose! Prominent as it was, the redness produced by the growing congestion was even more noticeable.

As if confirming her suspicions, Snape began to sneeze. One, two, three, four times before he could catch his breath. The scene could have been funny, but the girl didn't find anything to smile at. She was concerned about him, but at the same time, she was too afraid of an incensed reaction to voice her feelings…

A handkerchief made a sudden appearance in his hand and disappeared again in his pocket. Then Snape shook his head, unsuccessfully tried to inhale, and finally gasped for air.

At that sight, Hermione couldn't resist anymore.

"You need something hot!" she burst out, unconsciously mimicking her mother. Then she realised what she had said and went to open the cupboard, hoping to conceal her embarrassment behind its doors.

"What would you prefer, tea... or perhaps milk and honey?" she offered bravely; his eyes met hers, and the girl swallowed under his ironical gaze.

"I see you are enjoying the situation," Snape said with a frown and rose from his seat. She instinctively backed off from his movement, and he stopped immediately. They stared at each other in silence.

"Still afraid?" he sighed with a sad smile. "I had hoped…"

He trailed off, and a hesitant pause followed; then he took out of his sleeve a small package, wrapped in a silver paper and decorated with a red ribbon. Awkwardly, he handed it to her.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Granger."

…

Stunned, Hermione stared at him and at the package alternately. The surprise had been so unexpected that she couldn't even breathe. All she could do was to watch him agape as if he had never seen him before. Then an immense joy filled her heart. It was so… so incredible! For a moment, she felt the impulse to hug him, but she obviously controlled herself and finally found enough voice to reply.

"For me? Thank you very much, Professor!"

A radiant smile brightened her face. Snape looked embarrassed.

"Open it, please, before thanking me," he commented, then sat again and watched her fumble with the ribbon. In spite of his detached words, Hermione could feel that he was anxious, and her curiosity doubled.

The paper was finally opened, and she found a book.

"_Rhyme without Reason_, a collection of the most beautiful poems through the ages…" the girl murmured to herself.

"I hope you like it," Snape said with a voice hoarsened by both his cold and his uneasiness. "I know you love reading, and the shop assistant said that this is their most popular sale for…"

It was his turn to swallow now.

"For girls," he concluded sharply.

Still astonished, Hermione tried to clarify her confused thoughts by asking him the first question that came to her mind.

"The shop assistant?"

"I bought it yesterday morning before coming back," he explained.

She felt another wave of happiness. So, that was the reason why he had been late. She had worried about him while he was searching a present for her.

"Thank you," Hermione said again and smiled warmly, not knowing a better way to express her joy.

"You… you do like it, then?" Snape asked, a mix of incredulity and relief.

"You couldn't have made a better choice," the girl replied, and though she had never read a book of poems before, she was absolutely sincere. Then she realised. It was Christmas, and she had completed her gift just in time! Feeling extremely excited, she put down the book on the table and said haltingly, "If you don't mind… please, just wait a minute…"

Hermione ran out of the kitchen. Her heart was beating madly, and a myriad of feelings were ricocheting in her mind. In a few instants, she reached her room, took out the package from her wardrobe and went triumphantly back. Surprised, the man tried to say something, but Hermione didn't even give him the time to utter a word.

"This is for you!" she announced proudly.

"For… for me?" His eyes widened. His astonishment was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. The girl was so filled with elation that she could begin to sing.

Snape considered the strange package with a puzzled frown. Hermione watched his long fingers cautiously open the plastic bag, and her smile slowly began to fade. Suddenly, she felt incredibly tense, and when he took out her creation, her tension turned into shame. How… how inadequate that present now seemed!

The girl lowered her head. Silly. It had been silly from her part. What strange chemical reaction in her brain had made her believe that he could appreciate such a gift? As if confirming her worries, his expression became more and more baffled. He seemed to be at a loss of words.

"Where… where did you…" he began to say.

Hermione anticipated his question. "I made it, Professor." A reply that sounded like an admission of guilt. Silence followed, and she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing to recover her control. _Not even a polite, hypocritical 'thank you'_, she thought. Surely he was trying to find an appropriate, sarcastic comment.

"YOU made it?!" Snape asked instead, still evidently puzzled. "When?"

Now, what a silly question, the girl considered. She had spent so many hours alone in that house!

He seemed to realise the oddity of his point and immediately corrected himself. "_How_ did you do it?"

_With my hands_, Hermione thought bitterly, but of course that wasn't the real sense of his question.

"I had some wool here, so I thought it could be nice to prepare something."

She expressly avoided saying "_for you_". It was too embarrassing, just as the whole situation was embarrassing; that's why she felt compelled to add more useless details to overcome the moment.

"The wool wasn't enough though, so I had to request Professor Dumbledore-"

"The parchment you asked me to deliver!" Snape interrupted her, eyes widening in understanding. Then he frowned. "But you said that it was for your…"

He stopped and considered her with a strange expression.

"You lied," he said flatly, and his voice sounded remote as if coming from another universe.

"I wanted to give you a surprise…" Hermione confessed in a whisper. A long pause followed. He was contemplating the jumper in silence, and she felt the knot in her stomach become tighter.

Then Snape raised his head to look at her. An amused, lopsided smile unexpectedly opened on his face, and in spite of his congested face, reddened nose and feverish eyes, that smile made him look young and strangely attractive.

"This is the most extraordinary surprise I have ever received. Thank you, Miss Granger."


	25. Tuesday - Day 24

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Tuesday - Day 24 – Not now!**

Boxing Day announced itself with a glorious sun that mirrored Hermione's feelings. Odd as it may seem, the Christmas she had just spent in that wrecked cottage – and with her most frightening professor - had turned into one of the most peculiar and most pleasant festivals she had ever celebrated.

The girl had passed the whole morning in the kitchen, trying to prepare something really special. Professor Snape had been disconcertingly quiet. He had insisted on wearing her jumper, and in spite of her fears, the effect had been surprisingly good. She had guessed his size, though approximately. Only the sleeves were perhaps a bit too long. Well, to be honest, the whole thing was a bit too long. Worried as she was for a possible mistake, Hermione had opted for "the longer, the better", thinking that he wouldn't look ridiculous with a longer jumper as he would with a shorter one. But he was tall, and consequently, the result wasn't that bad.

Professor Snape had been pleased to see that she was reading the book he had given her. And though the girl initially had opened it only to show him her gratitude, after a while she had become more and more engrossed in the poems it was presenting. They were effectively beautiful, and many of them were also very moving because they spoke of love, friendship and peace right in the moment in which those magnificent feelings seemed to be denied to her.

The only thing that had spoiled the day was his cold and his insistence in going out – though in the warmer hours – to carry in more wood for their fire. Winter and snow were giving a hard time to the little cottage and its occupants, and the fireplace was devouring piles and piles of wood.

So, Hermione had silently been near him, trying to be of help at least with her presence. For the first time, she had felt she was returning a part of what she had been given by him. He was looking so exhausted that her protectiveness was greatly stirred. Two or three times, she had to refrain from inviting him to go to sleep.

But of course, that quietness couldn't last for too long.

...

In the first hours of the afternoon, his increasing nervousness had begun to announce more and more powerfully a change of mood.

In the evening, Professor Snape was again a lion – an irritable lion – in a cage. A subtle anxiety seemed to corrode his mind. It was as if he were expecting something to happen at any moment. Hermione had mercifully thought that all those days spent in overwork had finally exacted their toll, and she had imposed herself to be quiet. Her calm attitude had surprised even herself. She hadn't reacted at any of his verbal outbursts. And then, when they had ended dinner, she had wordlessly prepared the chessboard.

His reaction couldn't have been more disappointing.

"Enough with this game!" Snape had exclaimed. "Really, is this the only thing you can think of in moments like these?"

But then, something unbelievable had happened. He had looked shocked at his own words. Incredibly, he had apologised, and Hermione had felt again a warm wave of sympathy invade her heart. They had played two games, and she had noticed with deep satisfaction that he was doing his best to keep his temper under control. She had savoured that precious feeling.

Yes, something had definitely changed between them.

…

So, Boxing Day. The sun was shining, breakfast was ready and the house was warm and cosy. Everything was perfect.

Perfect?

Er, not exactly… Now he didn't need to go out anymore in the cold but, though the thought should be a cheerful one, Hermione felt strangely uneasy. Another long day was opening before them. Staying there with him, all alone, with nothing to do, wasn't precisely… comfortable. Professor Snape had a restless mind that was unable to pause. There was nothing in the cottage that could offer him a diversion, except five old books - one of which was just a cookbook that he had proved to know by heart – a chessboard and, alarmingly, herself. She gasped in sudden panic: that was surely going to be the prelude for a violent quarrel soon or later. He couldn't bear that inactivity for too long. And, as a consequence, his temper would burst out.

Yes.

There was no escape.

Her eyes widened: she was doomed.

…

But the girl had undervalued his cold. Though keeping him in a state of constant irritation, his annoying illness was also weakening his forces. After weeks of exhausting tasks, his body was evidently asking for a rest. And finally, tiredness took over. In the afternoon, Snape chose one of his books and sank in the old armchair, pretending to read. But soon his eyes closed, and his head leaned back in the dusty softness. His muscles slowly relaxed until his hands released their grip. Hermione arrived just in time to catch the book at mid-air, avoiding a noisy impact with the floor that would damage its pages and abruptly awaken him.

Holding the volume in her arms like a shield, she paused and watched him. He was completely and soundly asleep. It was the first time that she was offered such a sight: the moment was too special not to take advantage, so she lost herself in contemplation of his harsh features.

_Ugly_, the girl thought. _There was no doubt that he was ugly_, she considered again. Yet, there was something pleasant in that ugliness. Hermione tried to focus her thoughts and finally found a more appropriate adjective: interesting. Yes, he had an interesting face. Every curve, every angle, every detail was marked by something… intense. She nodded unconsciously at that word. Intense. And somehow compelling.

More thoughts crowded in her mind, anxiously asking to come out. His brows were dark arcs of terror… but his eyelids had long lashes that she had never noticed before. His nose was prominent like a tower… but that was a sign of his inner strength. And finally, his mouth, curled in a bitter line even in his sleep, reminded her of the many ordeals he had undergone in that terrible month.

And if only one month had reserved such cruel treatment to her professor, how many other horrors must have been inflicted on him in the previous years? His existence had been a continual chain of suffering, Hermione realised: now it was awfully clear why he had such a sarcastic, negative character. What else could he expect from life if not pain?

She gave his relaxed figure another long, careful and caring look. How vulnerable he was, after all. The students were frightened by his imposing height, by his harsh voice, by his acerbic remarks. But now, looking at him, she understood how deceptive was the armour he had built himself. Like an oyster in a shell.

No, not exactly. She watched him again and corrected herself. Like a _pearl_ in a shell. A pale, solitary pearl…

All of a sudden, Snape opened his eyes. Taken by surprise, Hermione backed off, stifling a gasp.

"What happened, Miss Granger?" he said with a heroic attempt to sound intimidating. "Why are you looking at me? Bad news? Something to confess?"

For a long, tragic moment, she fumbled with words. Why exactly was she there? She had forgotten…

Then she remembered.

"Ah, er, sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. You were… I was… The book had fallen," the girl corrected herself at the last moment. She smiled, trying to look and sound as natural as possible. "Here you have it." And she handed it to him, but Snape didn't take it. He seemed to be waiting for something. At least, that was what his expression suggested, as his eyes seemed to mutely question her.

Then he reacted with an effort. "Thank you," he said harshly and grabbed the book. Hermione smiled nervously and hastened to leave the room, muttering something unintelligible as an excuse. She ran to the kitchen, closed the door and sat on a chair, breathing in short gasps.

_Stupid_! The girl thought bitterly, punching her front with her fist. _Stupid_! Now he wouldn't rest anymore. Now he would get up from that comfortable seat and wander in the house while his mood would become more and more irritated. But mostly, she reproached herself for having awakened him just while she was trying to protect his sleep.

_Stupid_! Hermione repeated furiously. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…_

After a few minutes of insulting herself, the girl came to a decision. She would quietly go back and check the situation. Who knows, maybe Professor Snape had ceded to his exhaustion again. Or perhaps he had resumed his reading. In any case, she couldn't stay hidden in the kitchen for the whole evening.

Determinedly, Hermione opened the door and glanced out, gulping in apprehension. The silence was immense. Then she saw him standing near the fireplace. The flames created a vivid halo around him, making his shadow elongate on the floor with a suggestive effect. Reassured, she slowly went near him.

And there she stopped in panic.

His face had altered in pain. His right hand was tightened around his left wrist: the forearm had swollen hideously, and the Dark Mark seemed to pulsate rhythmically in a grotesque parody of a heartbeat.

Their gazes met, and for the first time, the girl acutely perceived his desperation. Immediately, she felt as frantic as he did, and that sensation was reinforced by her awareness of being pathetically helpless.

The man closed his eyes and whispered, "No! Not now! _Not now!"_

Hermione opened her hands as if in prayer, then clenched them in sudden rage. No, she wouldn't let him go. Or, at least, she wouldn't let him go _alone_. Enough of hiding. Enough of whining. Time to fight.

She jerked up her head. "We'll go together!" she said boldly.

Snape abruptly opened his eyes and seemed to realise only in that moment that she was there, in front of him. His eyes widened in understanding, and his brows furrowed in his usual angry expression.

"You will stay here!" he hissed dangerously. "Your useless Gryffindor pride is going to kill us all. Haven't you learned your lesson by now? Do you want to graciously deliver yourself and the Cause to the Dark Lord on a silver platter?"

He staggered under the pain, then tightened his grip, gritting his teeth. "I must go," he panted. "The call is too strong. Something must have happened. I need to know."

Hermione raised a hand as if to touch him and comfort him. But he was a ball of pain, and she didn't dare. She walked with him towards the door. Snape took his cloak and wrapped himself in it. Then he went to open the door. It was snowing, silently and heavily, and he paled at that sight. The cold was stinging. They both shivered in unison, he at the prospect of a walk in that freezing whiteness, she in terror for his health and safety.

Impulsively, Hermione put a hand on his hand. The skin was dry and burning, and she turned savagely to look at him. "You are ill!" she exclaimed. "You mustn't go! This cold is going to kill you!"

Snape smiled bitterly. "The Dark Lord is going to do something worse if I don't answer his Summons."

But then he watched her, and his voice softened. "As soon as I am far from here, I will cast a medical spell on myself," he added. "I'll be better, don't worry."

Her brows raised, first in disconcertment, then in happy realisation. Yes. YES! How clever. And how considerate of him to use such kind words… The girl nodded and smiled bravely, trying to comfort him. Snape went down the steps and began to walk in the snow.

Keeping a now blank smile pasted on her lips, Hermione watched his tall figure advance further and further. He was moving with evident uneasiness, as the soft white mantle was impairing his legs. And he kept shivering. The cloak wasn't enough protection against the cold in his condition.

Her breath came out in halting puffs while she followed each one of his steps as if she were walking with him and sharing his suffering.

The cold was stinging, but Hermione watched until he disappeared into the blackness.

…

The girl entered the house and sat in the armchair. The fire was languishing, and she automatically got up to add more wood. Professor Snape needed to find a reinvigorating warmth when he returned.

But would he come back? Hermione stared at the wall with unseeing eyes. He had looked so upset this time! Only a pale trace of his old self-confidence had sparkled in his answers…

Did he know something? Was he afraid? This last thought was really terrifying. He never looked scared. The girl had initially thought that he was arrogant. Then she had admitted that he was brave. But now, that word carried a different shade.

"Brave" didn't mean thoughtless or reckless. In that sense, bravery was the foolish audacity of the children, the way Harry, Ron and she herself had acted so many times in the past: diving into danger without really knowing what the danger was, as if enjoying it. While Snape, he knew what he was going to face. He knew and he feared it, yet he kept struggling obstinately.

Hermione felt a knot in her throat. How mistakenly they had always judged him before, guided as they were by childish feelings of resentment and pride and anger…

And now he was gone, and perhaps he would never come back, accompanied only by the contempt and the hate and the scorn everybody had contributed to load on his shoulders.

The girl felt hot drops unexpectedly flow down her cheeks, and at that point, she ceded. She curled in the armchair and cried tears of desperate helplessness and regret, whispering broken words of apologies to the darkness around her.

Slowly, she fell in a sort of desolate stupor and let her senses take shelter in that trance, as if refusing to accept the horrid reality.

Finally she opened her eyes. Many of the candles were out, and the room had taken a sinister look. Hermione checked the watch: midnight, too early for him to be back from such a meeting.

"If" he would ever be back…

The anguish in her heart was growing too strong to be kept under control, and every minute seemed to increase that ominous sensation. Hermione began to act frenziedly, as if expecting their enemies to show up at any moment.

She got on and put new candles in the candlesticks and lit them. Then she had second thoughts and put all of them out except two. Better be prepared, she said to herself, and she closed all the shutters of the windows. Let's give them a hard time, she muttered. Then she realised that, doing so, she wouldn't be able to check the land around the cottage; therefore, cursing their enemies in a low, enraged voice – an activity that seemed to give her a strange relief – she opened the shutters again. Then she went to the kitchen and checked all the cupboards. Immediately after, she remembered the envelope. She put a hand in her pocket, and there it was, safely tucked away. She breathed deeply for a moment, then her mad run began again.

None of these actions was effectively useful, but there was nothing else that Hermione could do, except wait, wait and wait. And corrode her spirit in the wait. The night seemed to be eternal. She went watching from the windows every few minutes, and once even opened the door to take a quick glance. The cold was unbearable, and shivering in anguish, she hastened to get inside again.

Finally, the girl took his book of poems. Determinedly, almost ferociously, she sat and forced herself to read and savour every line. Slowly, her mind lost itself in the heartbreaking beauty of those immortal words of love and harmony.

…

Hermione was dozing, eyelids half closed, when she heard a sound outside the door. Her heart jumped in her chest. Was Professor Snape back… or were their enemies?

Hundreds of questions were flooding her mind, and the girl struggled to discipline her anxiety. A mistake could lead to a disaster. She simply MUST be careful.

She reached the door, just in time to hear the sound of something thumping against it, just like… just like a body that had suddenly collapsed. Her heart skipped a dozen heartbeats.

"Professor?" she asked, but no answer came. "Professor?" she tried again, and panic was easily perceivable in her trembling tone. Still no answer came and, too scared to think properly, Hermione unlocked the door.

Her blood chilled as a heavy mass seemed to fall brutally over her; she fell back, limbs trapped inexorably, then she hit the ground and struggled frantically to free herself from that unknown aggressor.

Her enemy, however, had neither will nor strength for an attack. As soon as she succeeded in pushing him back, Hermione recognised Professor Snape in that cold, inert heap of clothes.

"No!" she cried in horror. "You can't be dead! Please, Professor, speak to me! Please! Please! PLEASE!"

At her last desperate plea, something seemed to happen. The man moved a hand and tried to brush the hair over his eyes while murmuring drowsily with a menacing accent, "You don't… before opening… Going to…"

The girl let out a laughing sob. He was alive! She hurried to close the door, then carefully, very carefully, she knelt near him.

"Professor," Hermione called, and he shifted on the ground, opening his eyes in a sort of drunken stupor. "Professor, you are safe now, you are home."

"Are… are you here too, Miss Granger?" Snape asked in evident confusion.

Hermione shivered with apprehension. "Are you hurt?" she questioned him anxiously, and ran her hands over his clothes, opening his cloak. That gesture seemed to awaken him.

"Don't touch me," he replied with a low growl. "I'm perfectly all right."

Snape put his hands on the floor and tried to straighten himself. But he was too weary, and after a vain attempt, he dropped his head with a moan.

"Come now, let me help you!" the girl retorted in irritation while relief was singing in her heart. Damn stubborn man! Would he ever admit to be human?

Hermione took his arm. "You are frozen!" she exclaimed in a severe tone. "You must warm yourself immediately. Let's go near the fireplace. I'll prepare you a hot drink and then-"

"No, you'll leave me alone," the wizard stammered rudely, interrupting her and pulling away with a jerk. "I only need a bed."

He scrambled to his feet, refusing her help, but swayed in evident exhaustion as soon as he stood erect. Again, he disdainfully refused her hand.

"I don't want your help," he declared harshly. Then, still swaying dangerously, he turned and placed a hand against the wall to support himself. Without saying a word, Hermione crossed her arms and watched him go. Snape moved a step, then another, then another, until he reached the door of his bedroom.

There he turned around and watched her triumphantly.

"See?" he croaked. "No need of your bloody compassion."

And with an elegant bow, he fainted.

* * *

**Message following the many PMs I received this morning** _(and many thanks again to all those who wrote them):_

_The author would like to apologise to those who have been reading this story in the expectation of finding "fluff" in the form of physical expressions of love. This is a different type of romance, more of a psychological journey - somewhat, if I may be allowed the comparison, in the same genre as the immortal Pride and Prejudice. _

_Unfortunately, being Italian, I may have chosen the wrong word to describe my novel, and I am deeply sorry if some of my readers now feel betrayed and disappointed. If you decide to stop reading, the blame is mine; thank you very much for your support till now. _

_(However, I've changed the description in the Prologue...)  
_


	26. Wednesday - Day 25

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_The (extremely emotional) author is very happy and grateful for the many nice messages received about her last communication. _

___Thank you very, very much. _  


**Wednesday - Day 25 – Don't panic, don't panic! **

For a moment, Hermione kept staring agape at his motionless figure. Then her eyes widened in panic, and she ran to him. Snape had curled in his fall as if trying to protect himself from the impact, so now he was lying on his side. Gingerly, the girl made him roll onto his back, in order to check him. And then she paused, panting in anxiety. How heavy he was! How could she even think to lift him? But she couldn't leave him there for the whole night!

Hermione took a breath, realising how tired and frightened she was. Then her mind focused again on her task.

She cautiously put a hand on his chest and immediately retreated, expecting a violent reaction. But the man was lying still, and the rhythm of his breathing was regular. He was keeping his mouth open though, as his nose was probably congested. There were no signs of wounds or blood on his clothes. His face was pale and distressed in a heartbreaking way, but now, back in the warmth of the cottage, it was turning alarmingly flushed. Hermione touched his cheek with the back of her fingers. It was burning, and she felt suddenly scared. This was surely the beginning of a powerful flu, if not something worse. She watched him in anxiety; then, abandoning her reserve, she bent to listen for his heartbeats, resting her head on his chest. For a moment, she enjoyed the contact and that incredible closeness. Then she perceived something that immediately brought her back to reality. There was a worrisome rasping sound coming from his lungs…

The medical spell hadn't worked, the girl thought bitterly. But perhaps Professor Snape hadn't cast it effectively. Perhaps he had lied to reassure his frightened silly companion. Or perhaps he had used a wrong spell. Or perhaps he had been forced to neutralise the spell when coming back… Oh, how many useless doubts! Who cared about the "whats" and the "whys" now? He was ill, and she had to find a way to help and protect him while he was so defenceless.

Unconsciously, her expression became fierce, and her jaw hardened with resolution. Then her gaze rested on his motionless figure and softened again. She wasn't strong enough to carry him to his bed, but in the meantime, she could at least make him more comfortable. Hermione opened the clasp of his cloak, thus releasing it on the floor. Then she took off her jacket and balled it in the shape of a cushion with the intention of placing it under his head.

But, to do so, she had to… _touch_ his face. Something so private, something that she would never dare do… if he were awake. And yet, something so incredibly enticing now… The girl placed her fingers on his cheeks and delicately shifted his head, looking for bruises or wounds, and at the same time, feeling a delightful wave burn through her veins. But again, anxiety suppressed the sensation, and she hastened to insert the jacket under his nape, tugging the fine wool in order to protect him from the cold floor. Hermione watched him to make sure that he was comfortable, and again her fingers brushed his skin while she pretended she was checking him one last time.

Now she could afford to leave him for a moment to see if the house was safely locked. He had had no time to tell her anything about the meeting. He hadn't looked worried at his arrival but, to be honest, he hadn't looked lucid either. What if somebody had followed him? The girl felt a chilling flood of fear run through her veins: enemies at their door just when Professor Snape was unable to protect himself? That would be the end of everything. Even if she had Summoned Professor Dumbledore by the envelope, Professor Snape would have been doomed anyway.

Hermione paused and reflected. She needed something more practical to defend them both, something like a wand; but her wand wasn't available, so she looked for his. She found it in his sleeve, and she took it, shivering with apprehension. No magic, she repeated in her mind, be careful, no magic unless it's needed… She inserted the wand into her belt, then got to her feet. The room seemed to spin around her, and she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to resist. Then her sight went clear again, and she hurried to lock the door, feeling a cold shiver ripple down her spine. Should she go out and check what was going on around the cottage?

No, too dangerous. Instead, she would take a look from the windows. Cautiously, she lifted the curtains. Everything looked still and peaceful, yet she felt an ominous sensation biting her heart. As if somebody was hiding outside, amongst the trees. Somebody looking at the little cottage with a derisory smile. Somebody just waiting to strike…

She closed the shutters, one after the other, with mad velocity. In a few seconds, the house was thoroughly locked. Professor Dumbledore's magical charms and the house's natural barriers would combine to stop their enemies. Whatever might happen now, they would at least be granted the time to escape.

Hermione nodded at that sudden intuition. Yes, if an attack should take place, why should she bother opening the envelope and waiting for hell to break loose? Better Apparate him and herself safely away where their enemies wouldn't be able to follow them. But then she wondered why Professor Dumbledore hadn't thought of such a simple, effective solution? Was perhaps another danger hidden in the use of one of the most common magical spells?

The girl shrugged. Professor Dumbledore wasn't there to be consulted. She would decide what was better to do, for her and for Professor Snape, when the time would arrive. Hopefully, not that night.

She knelt near him.

"Professor?" she whispered. She needed his cooperation if they were to reach his bed. But he remained still, and Hermione began to feel agitated. He was too heavy for her. How would she ever succeed in carrying him to his room and to his bed? And would she ever be able to…to _undress_ him? She felt a hot redness rise to her cheeks. Professor Snape would kill her if she even tried. He would be furious just for having been seen in such vulnerable state!

"Professor?" she asked again. "Can you hear me?"

Her hand touched his arm tentatively, then reached his chest… An instant later, her wrist was seized in a grip like cold iron, and a voice growled, faint and husky but nonetheless quite distinct, "I said don't."

She jumped, heat rushing into her face.

"You must let me help you!" she pleaded. "You can't stay on the floor."

His eyes opened, and he looked at her with an unfocused gaze. She nodded anxiously, trying to reassure him, and at the same time, make him react. "Can you get up? Take my hand and I'll help you."

"Stop speaking to me as if I were a baby," Snape growled again while he tried to get up. After a few attempts, he put both his hands on the floor, and with an immense effort, he succeeded in reaching a sitting position. But, almost immediately, he raised his hands to his temples with a moan.

"My head…" he murmured, and Hermione could feel the shock in his tone. Her fear doubled.

"Let me help you, sir," she insisted softly, this time careful to add his title.

The man turned to look at her, and his face hardened in refusal. Stretching himself from where he was, he grabbed the doorframe with his hands: then, putting a knee on the floor and using his other leg as a lever, he managed to lift himself. Finally, trembling but arrogant, he stood in front of her, and then she noticed. In the warmth of the house, snow and ice had melted, and his clothes were damp.

"You should change your clothes," the girl impulsively said.

"Once I am free of your annoying presence, I certainly will," he snapped, but Hermione didn't mind his harsh tone. She kept considering him anxiously. Snape had closed his eyes now and was leaning against the wall while tremors ran intermittently along his body. Such evident weakness worried her, so she hazarded, "This way you are only going to get worse. You need something hot to drink. Just sit and relax for a moment, and I'll prepare it for you."

He flushed with irritation and replied dangerously, "Please refrain from theatricals, Miss Granger. I have survived things you can't even imagine. I'll survive this too." His voice was raspy, now, tired and bitter. Then it was his turn to notice.

"My wand!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at her belt and reddening in rage. "You took my wand! How dare you!"

"You were unconscious!" the girl cried while she hastened to return it to him, handling the stick as if it were burning her fingers. "I took it just in case it was needed."

Snape grabbed the wand with a violent tug. His eyes were blazing with fury.

"Don't you ever dare touch it again!" he shouted. "I keep making the same mistakes with you, Miss Granger. I should know by now that you can't be trusted. At the end, you behave as irresponsibly as your friend Potter!"

"But I-"

"Do not try to excuse yourself! You had been warned since the beginning!"

The outburst had evidently revitalised him, Hermione coldly thought. But, at the same time, it had rapidly consumed his residual strength. Unexpectedly, he swayed, and she raised a hand to prevent him from falling. He stiffened, and his eyes sparkled menacingly. She backed off in alarm. They looked at each other for a long moment, he vibrating in fury, she considering him with analysing eyes in spite of her anguish.

Then Snape took a deep breath and opened the door of his room.

"We will speak about this later. Good night, Miss Granger," he said sharply.

"Good night, Professor," she replied, unable to find other words. He shot her an incinerating glance, then closed the door with a sharp bang.

…

Hermione sat on her bed and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Stubborn.

Stubborn and exasperating.

Stubborn, exasperating and foolish.

Stubborn, exasperating, foolish and…

Damn it! She should know him by now. And, in, fact, she hadn't really been bothered by his emotional display. Another much more worrisome thought was churning in her stomach. He was evidently ill, but they were isolated in that desolate cottage, lost Merlin knew where, with no possibility of asking for help unless they wanted to generate a war.

Hermione clenched her fists in sudden fury. Had Professor Dumbledore ever contemplated the remote hypothesis that a similar unlucky astral conjunction could happen? Had he? Or had the wise irritating old man lulled himself in the joyful conviction that "whatever happens, it happens for the best", as Professor Snape had so irately reported an evening of some weeks ago… an evening that now seemed lost in the past, but that had been the sad premonition of the actual events.

Well then, perhaps, for once, that time Professor Dumbledore had unexpectedly failed in foreseeing the future. Perhaps, for once, incredibly, Professor Snape had been right in his scepticism. And perhaps, next time it would probably be better if she had…

A startling loud noise made her blood suddenly chill in her veins while a white flash of panic crossed her mind.

What… which… who…

The girl jumped down from the bed and opened the door with hands shaking in terror.

Her eyes dilated with the fear of seeing the scornful, triumphant faces of their enemies gloating over their prey.

Feeling a dull pain in her chest, she concentrated her whole self on a frantic search for every little detail that could indicate a danger.

Seconds elapsed in frightening suspense… And finally, Hermione realised that her chest was aching because she had been holding her breath.

Yet there was nothing frightful to be seen. No enemies, no invaders, no wizards, no Muggles… not even a mouse. So, it seemed that all her anguish had been stirred uselessly.

But then, what could the reason for such noise be?

Her gaze suddenly focused on a confused, pale shape at the opposite side of the living room, half hidden by the table, and her mind seemed to catch fire. She crossed the space in a second and knelt again near the stubborn exasperating foolish man who was supposed to be safely resting in his bed, but who evidently had decided otherwise.

In spite of his protests, Professor Snape had tried to reach the kitchen and drink something. A broken cup and a puddle of liquid were the mute witnesses of his courageous attempt. But, on his return, his weakness had betrayed him, making him fall.

Now he was lying on the floor, breathing painfully, his old worn-out nightgown glowing in pallor on the dark wooden floor. At that unexpected, so incredibly touching sight, her heart instantly melted.

"Shh, don't speak now," the girl said softly, terrified to see how crushed he looked. "Relax, be quiet. Take a long breath and relax. As soon as you feel better, I'll help you to your bed."

"I can't… I can't stand up," he admitted, and frustration for his weakness filled his eyes. Hermione felt even more panicked.

"Just relax," she said again, trying to steady her voice in a reassuring tone. "You are too tired. Allow yourself the time to react."

Hermione waited for a long moment, then dared ask.

"Did anything… did anything particular happen this night?"

"Don't worry, they still haven't got a clue about you," he whispered fiercely, clearly expecting her to be concerned about her safety.

But that really was the last of her concerns, now. The girl looked at him and bit her lip, remembering how furiously the Dark Lord had reacted at that lack of information just some evenings before. She felt horribly afraid that something similar could have happened that night, and that THAT could be the reason of his breakdown. Asking Professor Snape about it could raise an incensed reaction. Nonetheless, she needed to know, so she went on, very softly.

"Did they… hurt you?"

He let out a shaky breath. "Playing the nurse now, Miss Granger?" he replied in a tremulous attempt of sounding amused. Then his eyes closed and, once more, his head went down in exhaustion. At that sight, an obscure anger ignited in her heart.

"Did they!" she exclaimed in an outraged, threatening tone.

He coughed and looked at her with an immense effort. "Relax," he said in a whisper, mimicking her previous words. "I wasn't… _physically_ hurt."

Then, with a moan, he dropped his head again and stood still, breathing slowly to recover his strength. She waited near him, kneeling in silence on the floor.

…

It took them a long time to return to his room. Hermione helped him and supported him and practically guided him step by step, dragging him determinedly to his bed. And when Professor Snape finally wrapped himself in the blankets, they both released a simultaneous sigh of relief.

He looked mortally pale, and that low and disquietingly rasping sound was clearly perceivable in his breathing now. The girl sat on a chair and watched him with exhausted, worried eyes. No, this way the situation was only going to worsen. And she too needed a rest as soon as possible, if she wanted to help them both survive that dangerous moment.

But now he was the priority in her mind. Hermione bent towards him and declared firmly, in an odd imitation of his manners, "From now on, I want you to avoid foolish bravados like the one you did before: so, please be sincere and answer my question. Would you like something to drink before I leave you?"

Snape raised an eyelid that was weighing a ton, judging from the effort, and whispered hoarsely, "Tea. Tea, if you don't mind."

And, with another effort, he added almost imperceptibly, "With sugar."

Hermione nodded, though he couldn't see her as he had closed his eyes again. She went to the kitchen, swaying at every step, and there she heard him coughing. Silence fell for a long moment, and she hurried to prepare the drink. Then she added five spoonfuls to the cup, put it on a tray and brought everything to his room.

His eyes were open now, and he was pressing a hand on his chest. "I feel like… fire inside…" he murmured.

"This will help you," she replied, offering him the tea in her best imitation of a nurse while her mind kept telling her that the situation was getting every minute more worrisome.

With a grateful look, Snape took the cup and drank the liquid in slow, hesitant sips. Then he handed it back to her but his fingers relaxed untimely, and she had to grab it at mid air. His head sank back in the softness of his pillow, and the dark circles around his eyes deepened while he fell into oblivion.

…

Hermione woke up after a few hours of agitated, continuously interrupted sleep. Professor Snape had begun to cough repeatedly just when she had begun to relax in her bed. Of course, that worrisome sound had awakened her immediately. The coughing kept repeating at random intervals. At the end, the girl got up and went to knock lightly at his door.

"Yes?" A feeble voice answered boldly.

"Uh, sorry… everything all right, Professor?" she asked. "Anything you may need?"

"I'd need to sleep!" he replied sharply, and as always, his harsh reply reassured her. But he kept coughing every now and then, until probably exhaustion definitely spent him.

…

Hermione let him sleep for the whole morning while she relaxed in the armchair near his door, ready to intervene or to add more wood to the fire. She was still very tired, so she soon fell again into sleep. Napping in that old piece of furniture had become a habit for both of them, she thought hazily when she woke up.

At noon, the girl silently reached the kitchen to prepare herself a couple of sandwiches. The morning rest had somehow revitalised her, and the lighter hours were always a great help to brighten her mood. Under the light of the sun she felt safer. Under the light of the sun she felt stronger. And also, she was very happy that he had been able to sleep undisturbed for such a long time.

But when she knocked at the door of his room for a quick check, she found an unpleasant surprise. Snape was sitting in the bed, leaned against the pillow; his face looked flushed with fever and his lips were attempting to articulate words that were coming out like whispers, therefore practically inaudible. She immediately reached him.

"Miss G-Granger," he said, and his tongue stumbled on the "G". His chattering teeth didn't make his speech more fluent or comprehensible.

"Yes?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"C-cold. It's so cold here," he murmured.

She watched him with widened eyes. He had something like five covers on his bed!

"I'll add more covers," she said anyway with a professional tone. "Also, it would be better if you could eat something… is there anything you would like?"

"Drink," Snape replied instead, shortening his sentences as much as possible. "T-thirsty."

"Let me check your pulse," the girl said. He frowned, but he wasn't strong enough to oppose her request, so she took his wrist between her fingers. The rhythm of his heartbeats was incredibly rapid. His skin was dry and burning. His eyes were burning too. Then a bout of coughing shook his body violently.

"I have been calling you for a long time! Why didn't you c-come sooner?" he asked angrily when he could talk again. As always, anger revitalised him.

She smiled wearily. "I didn't hear you. Sorry. I will leave the door open from now on, if you allow me."

The man simply closed his eyes in reply. She went to the kitchen and prepared tea and biscuits. He drank avidly, then tried to chew some biscuits. "More tea," he urged, and she hastened to fill his cup. With a lot of efforts, he succeeded in eating five or six biscuits. But then the coughing started again, leaving him drained and shaking.

"Your temperature is very high," Hermione said. "You have a powerful flu. If you keep worsening, I will be forced to cast a-"

"NO! We cannot use magic here!" Instantly alarmed, Snape grabbed her hand. "Your word, miss Granger. Your word that you are not going to perform any magic in this house! That would destroy everything I've done." He was so tired and so agitated that, for a moment, tears twinkled in his eyes.

"I promise that the many sacrifices you have undergone won't go wasted," the girl said firmly. At those reassuring words, his eyes unfocused, and he seemed to fall into torpor again.

…

A sudden idea hit her, and Hermione went rummaging in her bag. And in fact, there they were. Paracetamol in tablets. Her mother's initiative. Though at the time the girl had been irritated, now she blessed the scepticism that had made her mother believe in good solid science instead of magic. She opened the packet. Only five pills left… She sighed in dismay, then she decided that she would give him two of them. The maximum dose allowed, according to the leaflet.

…

Snape opened his eyes. "Muggle medicines? They take a lot of time to work, but thank you."

He coughed and lay inertly. Hermione took a glass of water and offered him two pills. He ingested them without protesting, then leaned back with a sigh.

The tablets seemed to actually work. An hour after, the man was able to call her imperiously, sit more comfortably and eat something – soup and a boiled egg. But soon the situation precipitated again.

At the beginning of the night, Snape was breathing with evident difficulty, and his temperature was so high that he seemed to radiate warmth around him like an oven. Yet he kept saying that he was feeling cold. He also seemed to look at her without really seeing her, and sometimes he began enouncing sentences that ended in stammered nonsense. That was even more frightening, coming from the sharp mind he had always possessed.

And the coughing! Sometimes it was so strong and violent that it looked like he would suffocate. His strength was declining rapidly, and Hermione gave him another two tablets, feeling desperate.

An immense fear filled her veins while darkness once more spread its black cloak over the world.

Alone. They were alone, and a human life was at stake there. How she craved for help! But she was only a girl, and a powerless one, with no magic and no friends on which she could rely.

Suddenly Hermione remembered that day of many weeks before, the evening in which she had asked Professor Snape to give her something to do, protesting that she couldn't bear that inactivity.

Well, her wish had been granted.

For the very first time, everything was on her shoulders.

* * *

**Message:**

_1) Too melodramatic? Believe it or not, Snape's illness is the (almost) exact report of what happened to my husband __many many years ago_... except that, _luckily_, he wasn't developing pneumonia.  


_2) **Luthearl**, hats off to you if you are still reading. It's time to finally acknowledge the intuition you sent me in your review, and that I couldn't publicly applaud because of the most obvious reason: it arrived too early to be commented ;)  
_


	27. Thursday - Day 26

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Thursday - Day 26 – Run, Run, Run**

The night had been hell. Hermione was too worried to sleep properly, so she spent the first part of those dark hours – dark in all senses - thinking about the best way to solve their situation without breaking her promise.

But there was no solution. Every action she envisioned inevitably lead to that unwanted consequence: arousing the protective charms around the house. The night was long, and she was too tired and upset to think properly; so, while the number of her choices progressively decreased, she ended by falling asleep in exhaustion.

When the first rays of light tinged the morning, the girl awakened with a horrid sensation of fear and guilt in her stomach. What about Professor Snape? Had he needed her and called her and perhaps tried other senseless attempts when she hadn't replied to his calls?

With a barely suppressed anxiety in her heart, Hermione went to knock lightly at his door.

He didn't answer.

Feeling her blood turn to water at the silence, the girl forgot about discretion and entered his room. Professor Snape was asleep, lying on his back, his mouth half open with the effort of sucking air inside. Half relieved, half scared, Hermione advanced silently and brushed the back of his hand with her fingers, careful not to wake him. He was irradiating heat in a frightening way. His body was shivering slowly, his face was flushed, his lips were dry and broken, and that horrible rasping sound was clearly audible with every movement of his chest.

She backed off in despair and went to sit in the armchair. The situation was growing too dangerous. What benefits were to be gained by not using magic if the result was his death? Was his plan worth such sacrifice? No, certainly not! Hermione rebelled violently against such a possibility. And then she took her head in her hands, curling in the armchair and praying desperately for inspiration. There was only one tablet left. If only she had found more Muggle medicines to give him…

A light suddenly blazed in the darkness of her exhausted brain, and she saw a solution. A solution that implied a lot of risks for them both, but a solution that could be delayed no longer.

…

Time was of the essence. First of all, Hermione went to her room and collected all her belongings. Not very much, she considered, looking at the small pile of clothes on her bed; yet enough to betray her presence in the cottage. Therefore, she checked every little corner of her room at least twice to be sure of not forgetting anything behind, then she put everything in her travel bag.

As a second step, she stripped her bed, folded the sheets and blankets carefully and placed them in the wardrobe. Now the room seemed as if it had never been used.

Next the girl went to the bathroom and emptied her personal cabinet; she filled a plastic bag with her beauty products and put them in the travel bag with her clothes.

Then she examined the kitchen to remove every detail that could reveal that another person had inhabited the house.

Finally, Hermione took her travel bag to the wood cupboard and hid it as well as possible under a pile of branches and logs. She paused to consider her work and nodded silently in approval. Yes, she had deleted every trace of her occupation there… Though, to be inhabited by a man, the house was perhaps a bit too clean. But Professor Snape had a reputation of being precise.

And now, the most difficult part: finding the nerve to leave the house… and him, defenceless in it. That was really tough. But what else could she do? If their enemies had arrived during her absence and discovered that she had been living there, he would be lost. Now that the Dark Lord had been informed about her secret, Professor Snape would surely be tortured and killed. She shivered.

This way there would be no Hermione and no evidence. They would only find an ill man, alone in his house…

No, wait a minute! She had forgotten the protective spells! They would react immediately to such a threat. At least, that was what she had been told. But perhaps their enemies would believe that the charms had been set by Professor Snape himself…

Well, why not? She remembered that, at the beginning of their cohabitation, he had told her that even the Dark Lord would understand a decision to make the cottage Unplottable.

And then, breaking the spells, some help should arrive…

_But would help really arrive?_ Hermione bitterly considered. At this point, her mind, so distressed by the recent events, had begun to doubt the rationality of a plan that appeared more and more flawed when put to the test.

However, if the protective spells were broken, the plan would be spoiled, with or without Hermione in the house. Her hand absent-mindedly brushed the magical envelope tucked in her pocket, a gesture that she had repeated many times in those last frantic hours in the hope of finding comfort. She frowned. The envelope was an even stronger protection. Perhaps she should leave it for him? No, that would be too evident an indication of Professor Snape's real allegiances; better keep it with her.

Lastly, the girl considered with pensive eyes the wand he had left on his nightstand: that would be a more than useful device, but she didn't want to take it. He should be left at least a weapon!

She sighed again in dismay… the problem was that she too needed a similar help or her plan would never work.

Put in that way, the question had no solution. Yet, there was still a chance that her wand had been brought to the cottage and hidden somewhere. But where?

Hermione resolved to look in his desk. And – oddly - there it was.

…

Predictable.

Too predictable.

Had Professor Snape really thought that the drawers of his desk were the best place to hide such a tool? Or perhaps he had always known that a time would come in which a wand would be handy?

Hermione didn't dare ask at that moment, as she couldn't risk awakening him. But if she made it back, and if they both survived her dangerous plan, then she would definitely enquire.

…

Now that everything had been prepared, the anguishing question rose again: could she afford to leave him? What if he worsened while she was out? Well, she reflected, that was precisely the reason why she was leaving: to help him, because staying in the house wouldn't change the situation. There was only one pill left in the packet, and she wondered if she should give it to him before leaving. But again, that would mean awakening him, which could destroy her possibility of going unnoticed. Hermione resolved to leave the pill on his nightstand, near a glass full of water. Hopefully, he would understand. Hopefully, he would remain sleeping and undisturbed for some time. Hopefully, she would be back before he awakened…

She watched him, and a strange, hollow sensation filled her heart. She didn't want to go. She wanted to stay with him. And, watching his motionless form, her lips curled in a pale smile as she remembered his last accusation: yes, in the end she behaved as recklessly as her friend Harry. For a moment, the world stopped while she considered the many adventures and risks she had so incredibly survived. Till that day, luck had helped her. Luck and two devoted companions. Her heart tightened. Facing danger had been much easier with friends at her side.

And then another thought hit her. How was she to reassure him if he awakened and found her gone? How could she let him know that nothing had happened to her without also leaving evidence of her presence in the cottage to a possible intruder? Would he think that she had betrayed him? The mere thought of his possible interpretations was maddening. But he would forbid her to go if he had known her intentions. And that would definitely mean his condemnation. So, what to do?

Hermione raised her eyes as if in a prayer, and the solution looked back at her from the table in the living room.

…

The girl walked resolutely in the snow while white regular puffs escaped her lips. The first rays of sun were timidly peeping out amongst the clouds, and the air was cold and crisp. Hurry, hurry, hurry, her brain was urging her. Run, run, run, blood was singing in her ears.

But Hermione knew that she needed to be careful. So she kept a fast but steady pace, glancing anxiously around her. She hoped that no menace was lurking for her in that desolate land of snow and trees. But she didn't know in which part of the country she was staying, so she had no idea of what and whom she might encounter. What if she had met an ill-intentioned person? She would have to use her wand, thus betraying her real nature… And what if the Death Eaters had found a way to detect her presence, now that she was out of her shelter? She felt her tension double.

To worsen the situation, the girl was dressed inadequately for the weather. The cold was chilling, and she was shivering. Surely, if she had met people, they would notice it. They would think that there was something strange in a girl so evidently out of place. What if a policeman questioned her?

Hermione gritted her teeth and kept walking stubbornly. That was a risk she had to face. Instead, she concentrated on what to do next. Her first idea had been going to the pharmacy of in the village. But then, she had reflected that a) she would be noticed b) she could meet Robert c) much more important, the pharmacist wouldn't give her medicines without a prescription, so she would need to use a Confundus Spell. But what if there was more than one pharmacist? What if an unwelcome customer had entered right at that moment or simply stared through the windows while passing by? She would be noticed. And the town was too small and too near to the cottage to be a safe place.

For a moment, Hermione considered the possibility of going directly to Hogwarts. Yet she discarded the idea immediately after. She didn't know why, but she perceived a trap in that option.

So, her plan had consequently changed. Now she could only put her hope in luck. As always.

The girl turned to look back. She had covered a long distance. The cottage wasn't visible anymore. The place was deserted, but to be even surer, she hid herself in a copse. Then she took her wand and felt the familiar power burn in her veins. With a shiver, she closed her eyes.

A fox that had stopped to watch her in curiosity, startled and scurried away when she Disapparated with a soft pop.

…

The sun was shining when Hermione re-Apparated in the same spot. But this time, she had a plastic bag in her hand and a triumphant smile on her face.

She advanced laboriously through the snow, unable to contain her excitement… and her anxiety. She was leaving a clear path of footsteps while walking. She needed to cancel the traces she had left behind her, but they were too deep. Trying to cancel them with the help of a branch would only make the track more visible. So the girl tried at least to muddle it, hoping for a successive snowfall. Now that the white softness was again around her, the feeling of triumph was slowly fading into uncertainty and fear.

What had happened in the meantime? How was Professor Snape? She walked at an increasingly hurried pace until the cottage entered her sight. There was no smoke coming out from the chimney, and she wondered and trembled inside. Was that a bad sign… or simply the normal consequence of Professor Snape not being able to feed the fire? Again, how was he?

The many doubts and fears she had kept locked in her heart suddenly materialised and grew gigantic.

When Hermione finally reached the steps under the porch, she was on the edge of panic. She opened the door with his keys and entered cautiously. Everything seemed to be in its place, but the house was disquietingly silent. She advanced warily. Nothing seemed to have been touched in the living room. The girl put the plastic bag on the table in order to free her hands in case of unpleasant surprises. Her heartbeats grew louder in her ears.

Silence… Too much silence…

Repressing her increasing anxiety and keeping a hand on her wand, Hermione moved carefully towards his room, inspecting the kitchen and the bathroom with quick glances, ready to react to a possible threat. The door of her room was open and she could see that there was nobody inside…

But his door was closed.

And she had left it open that morning.

Her jaw hardened.

She put a hand on the doorknob and abruptly rotated it.

…

Hermione ducked just in time to avoid his punch.

Professor Snape had been standing noiselessly behind the door, so she imagined he had detected her arrival but, confused as he must be, he had acted as if she was an enemy. Her brain automatically registered that thankfully he had not used his wand, otherwise she would have probably been hexed mercilessly.

However, she had no time to protest or object to that rude welcome. The violence of his gesture had made him lose his balance. He tried to support himself by clinging to the doorframe, but his hand lost its grip almost immediately. Inexorably pushed forward by his own action, the man fell on his knees before her.

Instinctively, Hermione tried to stop his fall and ended by practically embracing him. Something immensely sweet entered her heart at their contact, and her mind became light like a feather.

"I'm back," she said with a stupidly hazy smile.

…

"You are back?" Snape repeated as if he had realised only in that moment who she was. Something very similar to joy seemed to brighten his features, then his brows furrowed in concern.

"I could have hit you!" he considered with a sort of relieved astonishment. They looked at each other for a moment. Unexpectedly, a burning log fell loudly in the fire, exploding in a myriad of green sparks. They both startled, then Snape reddened with anger and embarrassment.

"Where the hell have you been? What the hell did you do? How could you be so foolish? Do you realise the dangers you put yourself in?" he yelled with his remaining strength while he pushed her back and tried to get up. But he was too weak, so he had to put his hands on the floor while a bout of coughing shook his body violently.

Hermione knelt before him so that their heads were the same level.

"I'm sorry. You can't imagine how sorry I am. But now let me help you to your bed," she said quietly. Her voice was calm and determined, and her composed, unexpected confidence subdued him. Snape obeyed with surprising meekness. It was only when he sat again on his bed that he seemed to find new strength for arguing.

"You went away without a word!" he accused wearily.

"Would you have let me go if I had told you?" the girl protested. "And that's not true. I left a message for you…"

"What message are you talking about?" he growled faintly.

"This one," Hermione said and grabbed the book of poems he had given her. She had put it on his nightstand before leaving the house, placing a piece of parchment inside it as a bookmark. But evidently he hadn't noticed it, she thought sadly.

Snape watched the book narrowing the eyes with the effort. Slowly, he opened it at the selected page.

"Poets and Patriots..." he murmured, and continued with his husky voice.

"_Like a pebble" by Ady Endre*_

_Like a pebble thrown in the sky,_

_My little country,_

_To you your son always comes back._

_Like a pebble thrown in the sky,_

_My little country, to you I resemble,_

_Willing or unwilling._

_In spite of my desires,_

_If I threw myself a hundred times,_

_A hundred times I would come back to you._

The last words had been circled with a thin red line. The man raised a disconcerted face to her.

"That's ridiculous!" he breathed, and his expression altered. "How could you think I would imagine…"

Once more, a violent cough stopped his speech. He leaned back in weariness and Hermione felt a pang in her heart, seeing how worn-out he looked.

"I'm sorry," she said, pained for the trouble she had been forced to inflict on him with her departure and that she had vainly hoped to lessen with her scheme. "I have been too subtle."

"But… why?" Snape finally found the force to ask. "Where… did you… go?"

"Ready for a surprise?" she asked.

He stiffened and opened the eyes he had closed in exhaustion.

The girl went to collect the plastic bag in the living room and showed it to him.

"Medicines," she simply announced to his stunned face.

"How… where…" he stammered, still struggling against the devastating effects of the surplus of adrenaline that had consumed his strength.

"Shh," Hermione said gently. "It's a long story, and I'll tell you everything, but only when you feel better. The important thing is that now I am here, we are both safe and I have got antibiotics for you."

"A-antibiotics?" Snape asked with a furry voice.

"Antibiotics," she confirmed with a smile. "I thought you knew the word."

He nodded wearily. Every kind of animosity had disappeared from his face. He was clearly relaxing, and the girl felt a hot wave ripple down her spine. He trusted her. He relied on her.

Hermione prepared a dose according to the instructions and presented a spoon to him. With an effort, Snape opened his mouth and gulped in the liquid. After a few moments, he disappeared again in slumber.

…

The girl put the medicines on his desk: then she sat on a chair and contemplated him. How vulnerable he looked now! And how… how…

Hermione could not find a word to express the warm sensations that were flowing through her heart, but she let them fill her veins and spent many minutes basking in those emotions, enjoying them and savouring them one by one. Finally, she leaned back on the chair and breathed slowly, closing her eyes as if she wanted to lock those feelings inside her. A hot wave of pride almost choked her with its delightful power.

_I did it_, she thought, and that reflection surprised her with its intensity.

_I did it. _

* * *

**_Note:_**

_I suppose that the majority of my readers won't know anything about Endre Ady. I was looking for a famous poem that Hermione could use as a secret message for Severus, but to my great dismay, I couldn't find anything acceptable. Then I saw "Like a Pebble" in a collection of short poems and loved it immediately. The version I found was obviously in Italian, so I translated it into English.**  
**_

_Following you have some info about the poet, in case you were interested._

_***Endre Ady**__ (November 22, 1877 - January 27, 1919) was a __Hungarian __poet__, journalist, short story writer, who took the role of "the conscience of the Hungarian nation," prophesying spiritual rebirth or pessimistically the destruction of "Everything". Ady is best-known for his daring works celebrating sensual love, but he also wrote religious and revolutionary poems. His expression was radical in form, language and content, mixing eroticism, politics, and biblical style and images with apocalyptic visions._


	28. Friday - Day 27

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Friday - Day 27 – Always the Same Words **

Twelve hours after, in the evening, Hermione gave Snape the antibiotic again as the instructions prescribed. During the day, she also administered an antipyretic and syrup for his coughing. The effect was prodigious.

After a night in which he had finally slept, by the time morning arrived and he was ready for his third administration of medicines, he looked incredibly improved. He still had a strong cough, but that horrible rasping sound had disappeared. He also looked much more relaxed. His face was less distraught… and his appetite was increasing.

Hermione's heart was filled by the most contrasting sensations at his progress. She was delighted to see that he was recovering so fast and well; yet, at the same time, she was somewhat regretting it, because their respective roles would soon be fully restored. Trained as she was by the turbulent weeks spent together, the girl expected to be harshly scolded as soon as he regained enough strength for the task.

However, at the moment, everything was quiet. Professor Snape was still too weak to get up, so she served him breakfast in bed, though he insisted with a half-hearted voice that he could have it in the kitchen, as they used to before. But in the end, he didn't protest when she arrived with a tray.

After breakfast, he napped until the middle of the morning while Hermione busied herself with many little tasks and checked the surroundings cautiously. The weather was changing again, she considered. Grey clouds were passing like a regimented army over the cottage. The effect was a bit gloomy, but a glance at the cosy interior of the house, lightened by the vivid dance of the flames in the fireplace, cheered her up.

And finally Professor Snape woke up and called her. Hermione was reading in her room and, though filtered through the wooden thickness of a door, she noticed that his voice had improved. Now it sounded less… less…

Then she understood that it wasn't his voice, but his tone that had changed. He was addressing her in a much more composed way. Yet, as she had feared, his authoritative manners were unmistakably back.

Thinking that he may need something, the girl hastened to reply; but as soon as she opened her door, she was surprised to find him sitting in the living room. He had evidently found the strength to get up and dress in his black clothes again, though they made him look very pale and worn out. Hermione advanced cautiously, noticing that he held her poetry book in his hands and wore the inquisitive expression of a judge before a trial.

"So," Snape said, "It seems that you did read it… at least to find that poem."

Not knowing what to say, the girl replied with an uncertain smile. His brows furrowed, quickly reminding her of other past unpleasant moments in their cohabitation. But no outburst came. Not yet, at least.

"I'm glad you found my gift so useful," Snape only commented soberly, placing the book on the table. Then he stretched out a hand before her perplexed gaze.

"Your wand, if you please, Miss Granger," he ordered in a quiet tone. Hermione assumed an indignant air and looked at him with offended eyes; but she had imagined that she wouldn't be allowed to keep her wand for too long, so she slowly took it out and placed it in his palm. Snape considered the polished brown rod for a moment before nodding gravely and putting it in his sleeve.

"Thank you. I appreciate your understanding." A hint of a smile curled his lips in his usual ironic expression, but it was immediately cancelled by a bout of coughing.

Evidently frustrated by his weakness, Snape struggled to recover his forces.

"Now, just a last minor request, if you don't mind," he panted, and his eyes narrowed. "I think it's time that you give me an account of what you did yesterday. A complete one… if possible."

His tone underlined meaningfully the last words, and Hermione stiffened. Things were going exactly as she had feared, she thought bitterly, and sighed softly in disappointment, without answering. The man frowned.

"Well?" he said, the old impatience colouring his voice.

"Are you angry with me?" Hermione asked impulsively. Snape looked at her with disarming composure, though an ironic twinkle lit up in his eyes again.

"Does that really matter? After your last exploit, I thought you were no longer affected by such negligible considerations. However, yours is a question I'll be able to answer only when I've heard your report. Please make yourself comfortable," he invited, indicating to a chair. "I'm sure that it's going to be a long and interesting tale."

Still uncertain and very wary, the girl bit her lips and finally accepted the seat she was offered. After all, it was useless to make him wait, exhausted as he was. And then, she was used to hear him shouting and scolding… though this time his voice would probably not serve him as well as before, she grimly thought. As if giving her reason, a new bout of coughing shook him, and it took him several minutes to recompose himself. Knowing how he detested his condition, Hermione was totally ready for an angry reaction.

But he surprised her again.

"Miss Granger," Snape began, breathing slowly to calm his inflamed throat, "to quote your words, yesterday '_you went away, you came back, we were both safe and you got medicines_', as you succinctly remarked at your arrival."

The girl frowned, perceiving a strange connotation in his speech. But he continued quietly, his voice growing steadier with every word.

"I'd like to add a small yet very important note to your brief résumé: so far, nobody seems to have discovered this house, and that's an extremely comforting point indeed, as the Dark Lord has never been known for his patience when his safety is concerned."

"Now." Snape inclined his head and Hermione flinched, sure that a storm was finally going to explode. But he just put his hands on the table and asked, "In order to value our situation, don't you think I'd need to know what you have done?"

Their eyes met, and he nodded curtly in invitation. "Again, if you would please tell me…"

…

"I promised you not to perform magic in this house, and I didn't want to break my word. But you were ill, very ill." She shot him a glance as if challenging him to deny his state. He glared back in silence.

"And I was afraid you could get worse," Hermione concluded, blushing in spite of her bold tone. Snape didn't react, just interlaced his fingers, while his gaze asked her to continue.

She obeyed, trying to be as brief as possible. "I knew that Muggle medicines could help without interfering. I only needed a place where I could find them."

The man grew very attentive. "I hope you didn't try anything as foolish as going to the village," he said with a sharp intonation, and this effort made him cough again.

"No," Hermione stated as soon as he recovered, feeling a sort of dull irritation grow in her chest. Did he really think she could be so stupid? "It was too dangerous, and I had another idea… One of my cousins is a doctor."

Snape snorted, still not ready to talk, and the girl raised a hand.

"Please, let me explain," she said calmly. "I know what you are thinking. But I have been very careful. I Apparated in five different places before arriving at my final destination."

"That was?"

"Galway." She frowned at his grimace. "The Irish side of the family."

"And?" he urged.

"My cousin was surprised to see me, but I told him that I was there on a trip with a… _friend_."

As soon as Hermione saw his lips curl in a mocking expression, she regretted her choice of words: they made her plan risible in spite of the risks she had faced. Irritation settled firmly in her stomach.

"I told him that my friend… well, that _you_ were feeling bad and described your symptoms. He was very worried and said that you should be brought immediately to him or to a hospital, for a visit."

Her eyes were scrutinizing him silently. His were utterly impassive. The girl squared her shoulders. The tempest would explode anyway. Better get to the point.

"In short, I convinced him to prepare a prescription… then I Obliviated him and went to a pharmacy. In Dublin. "

His lips tightened, and she concluded, "Finally, I came back by Apparating again in four or five different places as I did before."

There was a long silence after her last words. Hermione stood still, contemplating her shoes and preparing herself for his reaction.

"Why didn't you go to Hogwarts?" Snape asked instead. "That would have been the most reasonable option for you, I'd thought."

"Because I felt it was dangerous," she curtly replied. _Questions, questions, always questions! Shouldn't he thank her, instead?_

He stared at her for a long moment. "You were right," he whispered. "They are patrolling the areas around the castle. Every possible place where a visitor could Apparate."

There was no need to explain who "they" were. Hermione paled, realising the danger she had escaped, and her emotion didn't go lost on him.

Snape crossed his arms with a meaningful expression.

"Now you understand why I was concerned?" he asked softly.

The girl lowered her head, upset at how close she had come to a miserable end.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she tentatively offered, still struggling with her pride, and a strange sensation hit her as she called him so. For the first time, she felt that using his title was somehow unnecessary. Suddenly, she realised how much their relationship had changed. She was addressing him like… like an equal, like a friend. But the thought wasn't encouraging. There was no room for friendship when he was on duty. And as always, he had been right in his concern, she had to admit.

Yet she had succeeded, and this ungrateful man before her was the evidence of that success. So, Hermione raised her head and watched him boldly. "Fortune favours the brave."

"_Luck_ is a factor on which you and your friends have heavily relied till now," Snape corrected her gravely with his husky voice. "But luck can't last eternally. And, though a taste for danger seems to dull your normally well-functioning brain in such occasions, you should remember that a whole world depends on your choices."

"I'm sorry," Hermione repeated obstinately, looking at him and hoping he could read it in her eyes.

"Always the same words," Snape said with a smile that turned immediately ironic. "Don't you see how useless they are? I cannot - _we_ cannot risk losing you."

"That's exactly what I thought about _you_," she replied, and her tone softened in spite of her frustration. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have risked it."

"A kind but senseless consideration. I'm not as important as you are," he retorted.

"Perhaps not for others. But for me, you are."

The cough that he had repressed for so long in the effort of speaking suddenly strangled him and spared him a direct answer. The girl waited in silence. Snape finally took a deep breath.

"You're such a child," he commented bitterly. "You don't know anything about me, otherwise you wouldn't talk like that."

"I don't care," Hermione protested. "I've seen what you've done while we were here, and that's enough to judge."

"To blame, you mean," Snape murmured, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"To appreciate," she corrected him stubbornly. "And to be grateful."

Silence lasted the time of a breath, then his eyes opened, and he was again the severe teacher she remembered.

"Well, this has been an interesting conversation," the man declared firmly. "Now, what about something to eat? I'm sure you too would appreciate a break."

Hermione was still vibrating with unexpressed feelings, so she looked at him in surprise at that abrupt end, before replying quietly, "I'll prepare lunch immediately."

She rose from her seat and headed for the kitchen. She had just placed her hand over the doorknob when Snape called her softly.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes?" she replied.

"I… well, I…" he hesitated, then concluded brusquely, "Thank you."

Hermione nodded wordlessly and turned the knob while a sweet sensation filled her heart. After a quiet lunch, Snape retired to his room, and she dedicated herself to washing the dishes in a meditative silence.

The girl was still analysing their conversation when she came back to the living room and sat in the old armchair.

Lost as she was in her thoughts, it took her a couple of minutes to notice: the book, "her" book, was no more on the table.


	29. Saturday - Day 28

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_As always, thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**Saturday - Day 28 – Who Are You, Really?**

Hermione woke up in a bizarre mood that morning. She felt uncertain and, at the same time, very confident. She felt delightedly lively and slightly intoxicated by that sensation. And she felt that she was ready to start another trip into what he would call "her reckless behaviour".

Perhaps it was the sun, the girl considered. The clouds had left, and a brilliant light was making everything shine; another day had passed, and they were still safe and sound in the cottage.

Again, that strange sensation made of anxiety and joy prickled in her chest. And, suddenly, Hermione realised that such a sensation had been stirred by her last conversation with the dark man resting on the other side of the wall. They had spent so many days together, and yet he was still a closed book to her!

The thought was simply unbearable, especially after the mysterious words he had pronounced about her being unaware of his real identity. Her curiosity had been piqued, and an indefinite yet powerful feeling had nestled in her heart.

The girl spent some other moments in bed, indulging in her musing until finally her sense of duty brought her back to earth. Her stomach was empty and sending powerful signals. Breakfast, she thought happily, and impulsively decided that she was going to prepare something special to celebrate his coming back to life.

Then Hermione paused again, considering her patient's situation. Professor Snape had regularly taken his medication and passed another quiet night, so she hoped that his mood was still calm and his physical recovery proceeding well. Obviously, after his improvement, she hadn't dared enter his room anymore. The day before she had seen him only for dinner because he had rested quietly for the whole afternoon, and perhaps he had even worked, judging from the sound of scratched parchments coming from his room.

So, Hermione got up and dressed eagerly, head full of ideas for a rich food preparation. Then she opened her door. And, like a déjà vu, she found Professor Snape waiting in the living room, fully dressed and sitting in the armchair. The book - _her_ book - was in his hands, and he looked absorbed in its pages.

Her brows lifted at that sight. The man interrupted his reading and raised his head to greet her.

"Good morning," he said quietly; then, noticing her expression, he glanced at the little volume then back at her with an apologetic air. "I'm sorry, I borrowed your book without asking for your permission."

"Don't worry," Hermione said with a smile, pleased to see him so involved in reading. "It was a wonderful gift. I'm glad to share it with you."

_And I'm glad that you can still can appreciate such magnificent things as those immortal words of friendship, hope and love, _she added in her mind while going to the kitchen.

After breakfast, Snape was still in a quiet mood, and the girl felt that the moment had come to tactfully investigate, so to give an answer to the many questions that were bouncing in her mind. Therefore, she sat at the other side of the table, rested her chin in her hand and watched him reading. After a while, he finally seemed to become aware of her attention and raised his eyes again with an interrogative expression.

Hermione bit her lip under his gaze, not really knowing how to voice the many things that were clashing inside her.

"I was wondering what we are going to do in the next days, now that we know that _he_ knows," she tried just to start a conversation, and smiled timidly.

Snape frowned, and she winced at that signal. But he closed the book, inserting a piece of parchment inside its page as a bookmark, and replied calmly, "I suppose we can only wait. I have no orders from Professor Dumbledore except watching over you. Which I admirably failed to do lately, it seems."

"Oh, come on!" Hermione instinctively exclaimed. "I'm sure he prefers you alive."

He darkened. "Yes. Alive. And at his disposal."

The girl was saddened by a reply that seemed to underline his frustration, so she continued softly, "Why do you say so? Professor Dumbledore values you!"

"You speak too much, Miss Granger, and you know too little to judge. But I'm in debt to you, so I'll forgive your impertinence."

"You are in debt to me?! And why?" Hermione exclaimed with a mischievous expression of innocence. Then continued seriously, imitating his tone, "If you take the time to reflect, you will see that I have only been selfish, because your task isn't finished, and I still need you here."

"That's why your credit is greater. You completed your assignment. I still have to fulfil mine. But I'll do my best." His lips curled in one of his rare smiles.

"So, you are in debt to me?" The girl repeated, savouring the chance he was offering and enjoying his good mood. "Then perhaps you will answer a question," she tried almost jokingly.

"I am your humble servant," the man replied with a bow.

"Thank you, sir." Hermione smiled and nodded in return while her heartbeats accelerated their pace. Her curiosity, kept under control till that moment, had definitely broken its barriers. The girl was afraid to be daring too much, but the stone had been thrown, and she was persistent like a hound when she had a goal.

"I was wondering about your words of yesterday." She hesitated. "About my not knowing who you are. Really are, I mean."

The atmosphere perceptibly changed, making her immediately regret her decision.

"I suppose you have the right to know, at this point," Snape said bitterly. "But this is a secret that's no more mine, and it's a dangerous one. The Dark Lord could easily extract it from your brain."

"And then you'll be condemned?" Hermione couldn't help to ask.

"I'm not concerned about me," he said harshly.

"Then it's the secret in my mind? But the Dark Lord knows about it by now!"

"It's not you either!" the man snapped.

"Then… then who else?" she breathed, too fascinated by that game to consider the risk. "Could it be Harry?"

Snape clenched his fists and growled, "I'm not going to answer."

"Ah! So it could be him!" Hermione said triumphantly.

"I forbid you to go on with these considerations!"

A coughing fit interrupted his speech, and she watched him fight to recover his breath. Finally Snape succeeded while his face reddened with the effort. They stared at each other in grim silence for a moment; then, stretching a hand as if she wanted to touch him, Hermione said in a contrite tone, "I'm sorry. I always make the same mistakes."

"And you always repeat the same words to justify yourself!" he replied, trying to steady his still uneven voice.

The girl smiled an embarrassed smile. "Perhaps it would be better if I'd leave you now," she murmured, lowering her head in a rueful gesture.

"There is no need to confine yourself to your room," Snape hastened to say, and again the cough stopped him.

"Just… just watch… your… tongue," he concluded haltingly.

Hermione nodded gratefully and relaxed on her chair, watching the flames in the fireplace without really seeing them, and following her train of thoughts while smiling inwardly.

But that peculiar mood was still urging her to go on. So, after a few minutes, she felt compelled to interrupt his reading again, in spite of what had just happened.

"Perhaps you would like to play chess afterwards?"

Snape looked surprised.

"That would be a pleasure. But you don't need to bother yourself for me."

"Why not?" she said seriously. "I'd be happy to help you."

"You did that already," he replied in the same grave tone.

"But I was thinking of something different from just… well, you know, giving… making…" suddenly, Hermione felt uncomfortable. "Finding those medicines," she finally completed, feeling her cheeks become hot.

"I wasn't thinking _only_ of that. You have helped me in ways you can't even imagine… Miss Granger," Snape replied with a quiet smile, and suddenly blushed too.

Silence fell for a long moment, then they both began to speak simultaneously: startled, they stopped just to resume their speaking immediately after, superimposing their voices in a confused mix, then looking at each other in disconcertment and finally grinning openly.

Hermione felt a warm wave of sympathy run in her body.

"You look younger when you smile. You should do it more often," she said, light-hearted by his elation.

Strangely, this was once more the wrong thing to say. His expression became undecipherable, and Snape hastened to mutter something about the necessity of adding more wood to the fire.

The girl tilted her head to watch him rise from his chair, kneel before the fireplace and choose a log from the ordered heap at its side, fumbling with tongs to position it correctly and then carefully adding small branches to revive the flames. Myriads of shiny green sparks raised and fell in a merry dance each time he moved the tongs, and Hermione silently watched the reflections they were creating on his hair and on the walls.

Deplorably, it took him a long time to follow all those operations; when Snape sat back on his chair, his face was reddened by the heat, the smoke and the effort, but he looked calm again.

Hermione felt disappointed. _Evasive_, she thought in irritation. And she stubbornly decided to launch a new attack as soon as possible.

…

The opportunity for another try came in the evening. Snape had spent a big part of the day by writing and reading, so evidently absorbed in his tasks that Hermione hadn't dared interrupt him again.

But the girl was patient in her impatience, and hunted her prey tenaciously. She proposed him a chess game immediately after dinner, and the man accepted it dutifully, but he was too distracted to be a worthy opponent.

Furthermore, in spite of her attentions, Snape seemed to be strangely aloof. His answers were polite but brief, and he seemed to avoid every attempt at conversation, though his eyes followed her constantly when she moved in the room – he didn't imagine that she had noticed it, Hermione thought with grim satisfaction, but she had surprised his gaze several times by turning her head unexpectedly.

The girl was feeling unbalanced by his uncharacteristically passive attitude, but she generously attributed it to his exhaustion and to his persistent cough. So, when she saw him sit and open _her_ book again, she was perhaps too ready to intervene.

"You look very tired," Hermione said, standing before him with a protective air. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to go to bed?"

Snape reacted with mild irritation.

"You don't need to be so worried about me," he said, keeping his eyes focused on the pages.

"Why not?" she placidly opposed, and the mischievous little devil acting inside her somehow drove her to add, "After all, I'm your wife."

His face altered, and he took a deep breath before raising his head to look at her. The girl noticed that a more vivid shade of pink had coloured his cheeks.

"Amusing consideration," Snape said coldly. "But I need to remind you that, luckily, our marriage is only a ruse."

Hermione felt irritated. "I know it perfectly. Nevertheless, I thought that you would trust my friendship, if not my memory."

Evidently baffled by her statement, the man stared at her wordlessly. But before he could have a chance to answer, Hermione went on daringly.

"And why 'luckily'?" she asked, crossing her arms with dangerous calm. Snape inclined his head, apparently fighting back his cough while hiding his face under a veil of black hair.

"I didn't imagine you cared so much about this pretend marriage," he considered as soon as he could speak, a hint of his old irony tingeing his voice.

The girl snorted, and he shrugged, cornered by her determination. "I said luckily because, being a ruse, you are free. You have no obligations. Or did you really think that I would exploit the situation?"

Hermione faced him. "You know very well what I think of you by now."

"What you think may not correspond to the truth."

"Just because you have a secret, that doesn't mean that I have neither eyes nor brain to discern."

Snape's cheeks coloured even more while the girl animatedly continued, her face taking a childish expression of resentment, "I thought we were friends. You promised we would be friends. I even learned to play chess for that!"

"I do remember my promise," the man said gravely. "But that was meant for another occasion, for a happier time that has still to come. For the moment, you are only a student entrusted to my care."

"Of course," Hermione replied in a deceptively calm tone. "I am only a student. And a silly child. And the most distressing of your assignments," she concluded bitterly, quoting the opinion he had so bluntly expressed during one of their past quarrels.

Snape closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to control the cough that was welling in his throat.

"I admit that living with me can be very hard. Perhaps you will accept my apologies for such offensive words? I didn't really mean them."

The girl was too embittered to appreciate his offer and that amazing lack of reaction.

"If you allow me, _Professor_," she said without answering his question and underlining his title intentionally, "I would like to go to sleep. Unlike you, I'm not afraid to declare that I am very tired; so, if you haven't anything else to add to your rather eloquent speech…"

Snape looked unbalanced. Saddened. And at loss of words. With a sudden movement, he closed the book he was still holding in his hands, got up from his seat and handed it to her.

"Good night, Miss Granger," he replied quietly. Hermione hesitated, then took the book and resolutely turned her back to him.

...

The girl went straight to her room and closed the door, throwing herself on the bed. Why had she got so upset, after all? Did she really think that Professor Snape could care for her? Be her friend? Oh, how ridiculous! He had just confirmed that she was only one of his assignments. And probably the most annoying one. Disappointment tasted acrid in her mouth.

Hermione glanced at the book. There was a piece of parchment amongst its pages, and the sight irritated her. The book was going to be ruined. The pages would permanently open in that point, deformed as they were by that wedge so carelessly inserted. Her rage had finally found a pretext to explode, and she got irrationally furious.

The idiot! The insensitive idiot! He hadn't even thought of taking away his bookmark. The girl extracted the parchment with an enraged tug, then put the book on her nightstand and sat again on the bed, ruminating her resentment.

Some long minutes passed in that gloomy activity. And finally regret and unhappiness tightened her heart. That was not the way she had intended the conversation to go.

For a moment, Hermione thought of going out of her room and finding him and speaking and explaining. Then she heard his door closing softly. It was too late. They were divided by two wooden panels and a wall of bricks.

The feelings that were urging inside her would have to wait for the following morning to be expressed.

* * *

**_From the author (who can't evidently stop leaving notes because she loves speaking with her readers)_**

_Hi to everybody! I keep receiving desolate messages complaining that the story is reaching its end and asking me to go on with new chapters. Unfortunately, this is not possible, but thank you for asking. This means that you are enjoying my invention. However, please be assured that there are still surprises in store before day 30. How would that be possible? Keep reading and you'll discover it._

_For the unregistered reader who called me "liar" because there are only 27 chapters in spite of the title stating 30 Days... Dear you, whoever you are, the story is complete, but is being posted a chapter a day. I explained this several times. Why don't you take the time to process the information you are being given? ;)  
_


	30. Sunday - Day 29

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**Sunday - Day 29 – And Now What?**

Hermione awakened vibrating in excitement. There was something burning inside her, something powerfully compelling that was urging her to get up. She wanted to see _him_. She wanted to talk with _him_ and explain and perhaps apologise. But above all, she wanted _him_ to talk with her. She wanted to look at his face and hear the sound of his voice. That inexplicable urge was growing so strong it was becoming intolerable, and the girl had to sit on her bed and breathe slowly to calm down her heartbeat.

Hermione donned her nightgown fighting against waves of anticipation rising in her chest, then she opened her door cautiously. In spite of her weird compulsion, she didn't want to wake him and interrupt his rest. He was still weak and still needing medication… once more, she mutely thanked her cousin for the antibiotics that he had prescribed and that were working so well.

The girl spent a long time in the bathroom, careful to be as noiseless as possible in her actions. For a strange reason, that morning she wanted to be perfect, to… _look_ perfect. So, she left her warm shelter only when she felt that her hair was tamed to an acceptable shape and went straight to the kitchen, ready to prepare a memorable breakfast.

Snape had awakened as well, at that point. Hermione could perceive the soft movements in his room while he opened the wardrobe or paced around the bed looking for his boots. She had got to know him so well by now that she could easily imagine every step of his morning routine.

Glancing at the watch, the girl noticed that it was later than their usual standards, and she was happy that he had been able to sleep for such a long time… thus giving her a chance to prepare the food and decide a strategy.

But when Snape finally reached her in the kitchen, he didn't look as if he had actually enjoyed his rest. His expression was wary, even tense, and his eyes looked tired and anxious at the same time.

Hermione was concerned, but she tried to disguise it with a smile. He seemed to be relieved at that signal, and she thought that perhaps he was still uncomfortable because of their discussion of the previous evening.

That idea made her melt. Her smile deepened and she greeted him warmly, hoping to transmit a message with the joyful tone of her voice.

"Good morning! Would you like apricot or strawberries this morning? I need to open a new jar of marmalade, so you can choose which one you prefer."

Snape looked baffled for a moment; then, trying to speak, he cleared his uncooperative throat and replied quietly, "Apricot, thank you, Miss Granger. I suppose I am a bit conservative in my tastes."

Hermione nodded and smiled again while her eyes and mind kept scrutinizing and analysing him. He sat and interlaced his fingers, looking around silently and somewhat uneasily, and finally focused his gaze on his hands with the same expression of a child preparing to confess a misdeed.

The girl ended her preparation in silence, perplexed at his behaviour. During those last two days, he had been too quiet, too accommodating. Something must be going on: bad news? New hypothesis about their enemies and their activities? Or perhaps he was feeling worse? Hermione felt her heart tighten at the idea.

She sat at the other side of the table so to have a better sight of him. "Did you sleep well?" she asked noncommittally, glancing at his tired face.

"My bed is comfortable, yes," Snape replied a bit harshly, then he looked surprised at his own reaction and mumbled something. The girl stared at him in silence. He seemed to yield to that mute request.

"Miss Granger," he began hesitantly, "about yesterday evening…"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed in relief, glad that he had offered her a chance to introduce the subject. "I would like to apologise, Professor…" - _strange how that title sounded awkward on her lips now_ - "I have been very rude. I had no right to enquire or to judge. You are doing so much for me… really, I should be grateful, I AM grateful…"

But Snape interrupted her as if he hadn't heard a word.

"It's about your book."

Hermione felt a bit wrong-footed, nevertheless she kept a smile pasted on her lips. "Yes, thank you, I put it in my shelf."

He looked baffled again.

"I didn't… I mean, I just wanted…" the man shook his head, coughed a bit and finally continued his speech. "You seem to like that book very much."

"Oh yes, I love it!" Hermione beamed remembering the moment in which he had so joyously surprised her with that present. "It was a wonderful gift."

"Ah… well… I'm glad…" Snape said vaguely, putting sugar in his tea. At the sixth spoonful, he seemed to realise what he was doing and paused to look at her.

"And did you read it… yesterday?" he asked cautiously, stirring the hot liquid with energy. His breathing halted for a moment. Hermione had followed all his moves and now returned his gaze, furrowing her brows in disconcertment.

"No, I was too tired," she replied, and felt guilty remembering her harsh goodnight. But Snape looked unexpectedly pleased.

"Do you plan to read it today?" he enquired in a nonchalant manner while he raised his cup, took a sip and immediately put his over-sugared tea down with a disgusted grimace.

Hermione felt even more surprised.

"I don't know," she said warily, trying to guess what was going on in his mind. And, once more, he disconcerted her.

"Then… then perhaps you would be so kind as to lend it again to me?"

"Of course." She was definitely puzzled. "Should I fetch it now?"

"Er, no, no, thank you. Enjoy your breakfast, please. There is no hurry."

And Snape lowered his head on his dish, toying distractedly with his eggs and bacon. Hermione noticed that he hadn't even cast a glance at the toast she had prepared with butter and apricot marmalade. There was something really strange in his behaviour. What was worrying him? Did he know something that he didn't want her to know? Was there a danger approaching? What was going on, _really_?

That last consideration flashed vividly in her mind while, once more, the precariousness of their situation hit her. She needed to make up with him before something unexpected could prevent her from speaking and explaining.

Hermione forgot about the book and braced herself. "I would like to apologise for yesterday, Professor."

This time, his title sounded right. His face darkened.

"There is no need for apologies, Miss Granger. Especially after…" Suddenly, Snape looked at a loss for words, and his silence confirmed her fears. Speaking became more and more urgent, now.

"Please," the girl said gravely and softly at the same time. "There is something I need to tell you."

He looked instantly mesmerised by her tone, and his eyes lit up in anticipation. Hermione felt the words she had prepared gathering obediently in her mind. But there was also something else mixing with those words, something deeper and sweeter urging to come out. She was suddenly scared by the strength of that feeling, so she resolutely cut it out. No. Not now. Perhaps after, in the "happier time that was still to come", as he had said.

The girl breathed slowly.

"I don't know what is going to happen in the next few days," she began and put all the intensity of her emotions in that statement. "So, I want you to know that, in spite of my… of my silly reactions, I am grateful, immensely grateful for what you have done for me. I hope you will understand and forgive me if I chose the wrong moment, but I wanted to tell you before… before something irreparable may occur."

Snape looked as if had just swallowed a heap of ashes. His eyes lost their shine.

"You don't need to thank me either," he replied, and his dry tone betrayed the usual hint of irritation.

Impulsively, Hermione put a hand on his hand.

"But I needed you to know…" she said.

At her gesture, Snape froze and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. Hermione immediately drew back her hand.

"Sorry," she apologised, remembering how he hated to be touched.

The man opened his eyes and looked lost.

"You don't… you can't… your apologies are accepted," he said with an effort. "Now, if you would excuse me…"

With an abrupt movement, he got up and went straight to his room, leaving her confused and speechless.

…

The rest of the morning was spent in an artificial, eerie calm. Hermione was definitely sure that something had happened or was going to happen, and that Professor Snape was terribly worried about it. The levels of adrenaline in her blood increased so much that her head began to spin. There was nothing worst than waiting helplessly for something unknown to happen. Anguish was corroding her nerves, but she didn't dare ask him anything.

At noon the girl forced herself to prepare something to eat. Snape emerged from his lair, sat composedly at the table and ate what she had prepared without commenting. Actually, he seemed even more taciturn than usual. Her attempts at conversation were gently but stubbornly declined. He was polite but curt, and after a few moments, the girl decided that it was better to indulge his mood. If he had resolved to keep silent, nothing would make him desist from that attitude.

But at least his cough seemed to have improved. And he looked less worried. He seemed to have been strengthened by an internal resolution, and that idea comforted her. He must have found a solution, she thought, and that hope lit a feeble spark in her heart.

The day dragged itself in a tedious routine made of repetitive actions and silent glances, yet none of them tried to break that surreal, fragile quietness. They both seemed to mutely act as if those were the last moments of peace and hope they would experience.

…

The sun was lowering on the horizon when they heard a sound coming from outside, a sound that they both recognised immediately while it approached gradually: a motor was shattering the untouched silence of the snowy land around the cottage.

They looked at each other.

"Robert…" Hermione murmured, and dashed a hand to her mouth, blushing with anxiety. Snape nodded angrily, and his eyes flared. For a moment, he looked ready to commit a homicide. Then he seemed to surrender. He shook his head, glanced at her and shrugged.

"This time, it's all up to you," he said with a dull voice, turning to go to his room as if he didn't care any longer.

Hermione opened her mouth and tried to find an answer, then she gritted her teeth and renounced the task. Resolutely, she marched towards the door, feeling a burning anger grow in her chest. Robert? Again? What the hell did that insufferable boy want from her? Why didn't he leave her alone?

The girl opened the door and went out under the porch. The cold was chilling, and she wasn't dressed adequately, but her anger was mounting so intensely that she almost didn't notice the weather. The boy arrived right at that moment, driving in mad velocity just like he had done on his previous visit. Hermione sighed. Cars or motorbikes or brooms, men always seemed to be compelled to show off when a woman was there to watch.

The girl crossed her arms and frowned. This time, things would be completely different. This time, she would not be friendly and encourage him. She would be polite but firm, curt and perhaps sarcastic. After all, she had lived a whole month with a master of sarcasm: she must have learned something!

But all those dark propositions vaporised as soon as Robert got off his motorbike.

"Jane!" he cried, seeing her, and took off his crash helmet revealing a worried face under his glowing blond hair. "Thank God you are here!" he continued agitatedly, hurrying to climb the steps. "I have something very bad to tell you!"

Hermione felt a chilling stab of fear.

"What do you mean? "she asked, trying to look composed.

"Listen," the boy said, standing in front of her, "I don't know who you really are and I'm not asking you to tell me anything. But… but I like you, so…"

He swallowed. "This morning, two men knocked on our door asking for information. They said they were detectives looking for a girl who had escaped her family. They described you perfectly: I immediately recognised you from their words, and so did my sister."

Hermione paled, and her anguish didn't go lost to his eyes.

"Ah, then I was right…" Robert murmured with a mixture of pain and dark satisfaction. "I knew that you couldn't be married to that…"

He stopped abruptly, biting his lips.

"However, I thought that you should know…" he muttered with embarrassment. The girl looked at him in silence, aghast at the many implications of this alarming development.

"Where is… _he_?" Robert finally asked nervously, looking around as if expecting her frightening companion to materialize all of a sudden. Hermione shook her head in a denial.

"He left two days ago for a travel", she impulsively lied, hoping that her 'missing husband' didn't choose exactly that moment to appear. _Let's confuse the traces, if only it were possible… _

The boy looked reassured and continued in a whisper, "Then perhaps you would like to go away with me? I could help you… I know the area very well and I have many good friends…"

Again, he paused and blushed darkly. Hermione felt a new, strong force grow inside her, a new inflexible determination. So, in the end, they had been found… well, she would fight with all her strength. Her gaze hardened as well as her voice.

"What did you tell them?" she enquired calmly. Robert widened his eyes in confusion, then he understood her question. His words were rushed with the anxiety of reassuring her. "Luckily, my parents weren't at home, so I lied and told the strangers that I didn't know anything. My sister didn't say a word either."

He breathed slowly, shaking his head. "Not that they inspired confidence. Such awful faces… all dressed in black…"

The girl couldn't help a twitch at that description.

"Are you sure you are ok?" Robert instantly asked in concern.

"Don't worry, I am all right." Hermione crossed her arms, speaking slowly and looking straight at him. "Listen, I didn't tell you a lie. I am really married, and I haven't run away from home. Honestly."

"Then why are those men looking for you? And who are they, really? Or should I finally ask who _you_ actually are?" the boy asked, irritation and disappointment clearly showing on his face.

"I can't explain now," Hermione said quietly. Then, passionately, she took his hands. "Robert, would you help me in this crucial moment of my life? You said that you like me… Can I count on you?"

Her mind analysed the effect of her plea while her eyes wetted with tears. She thought that her acting skills had improved. In fact, the boy looked worried but also pleased.

"What do you want me to do?" Robert asked with a hopeful tone.

"I will leave the country," Hermione whispered. "But you must go back immediately. And alone. What if they had followed you in disguise?"

"Hey! I'm not stupid! I checked before leaving my house!" he exclaimed, but he couldn't help a nervous glance at the darkening sky while the girl continued feverishly, "If those men should come again and ask about me, will you be able to lie to them like you did today?"

The boy was disappointed. His romantic side had evidently hoped for something more daring. However, he lowered his head in a nod.

"But will you explain your secret to me, one day?" he asked pressingly.

"I promise!" Hermione said with her most solemn – and sincere – expression. Robert watched her gravely, then shook his head and sighed.

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for that," he mumbled. He turned as if he were ready to leave, then he stopped again, putting a hand in his pocket. With a hesitant smile, he extracted a small box wrapped in glowing red paper.

"I had bought this for you before Christmas…" the boy explained to her stunned face. "Do you remember when I came to invite you to the feast?"

Hermione nodded, wordless before that gift, and Robert continued sadly, "Perhaps you will accept it now, huh? As a memory of me."

The boy was still clearly and hopelessly in love, and Hermione was touched by his affection in spite of the increasing agitation rising in her mind. She felt grateful for his loyalty, and a spark of remorse bit her heart while she thought that she probably wouldn't see him again; let alone, explain to him who she was, even if she had survived. She let out a small, desolated sigh of regret. Robert would surely think he had been betrayed…

He was still staring at her and Hermione finally reacted. Time was of the essence, and now it was essential that Robert could leave her immediately and, above all, without possibly being harmed by their persecutors. The mere idea that he could be involved in a skirmish with the Death Eaters was unbearable.

So, she took the box with a pale smile, murmuring something similar to a thank you and hoping that he would accept it and go away without delay.

Robert stood still, contemplating her, then turned his back and went to the motorbike.

"Be careful," he said, before putting on his crash helmet. "And remember your promise."

The girl smiled her pale smile again and waved her hand in a greeting. In a few seconds, he disappeared in the darkness.

Then, and only then, Hermione closed her eyes and let the shivers shake her violently.

* * *

_**Message for amr:** Sorry, it seems that my English isn't as good as I had hoped it to be, at least that's what I gather from the (grammatical) questions you included in your review. However, I didn't think it was difficult to figure out which secret Snape wanted to keep hidden. It's the Prophecy and, above all, Snape's past in connection with it. The truth that Harry reveals to Voldemort at the end of book 7. _

_The question about "who you really are" can't be answered without betraying the Good Side of the Force... ops, I mean, of the Magic ;)  
_


	31. 30 - The Time Line Collapses

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**30 - The Time Line Collapses**

Hermione entered the cottage with a blank expression, ears buzzing and mind filled with visions of horror. Mechanically, she threw the small box on the table and buried her face in her hands.

Death Eaters! Death Eaters in the village and looking for her! What would she do now? How could they escape such a threat? Her eyes rested on the walls and on the decadent furniture around her, silent witnesses of her days in a place that she had learned to love and in which she had hoped to find a secure shelter. But this time, there was no other solution: they must leave the cottage immediately and Apparate to Hogwarts…

No, wait! The area around the castle was under surveillance, she suddenly remembered.

Then… then they should find a place from which they could safely contact Professor Dumbledore and ask him to open the Floo. Or maybe he could suggest another shelter for them, far away from such danger...

Yet the most important question still lay unanswered: where to go _now_? Perhaps to the Burrow? No, that would endanger its innocent, unaware inhabitants… Hermione saw the smiling expressions of Molly and Arthur change into looks of horror, and a sob escaped her lips.

Their enemies had found them… And Severus was so still so weak, just beginning to recover!

The girl blushed inwardly realising what she had called him, but she repeated his name in her mind, savouring its sound. Severus. A harsh name like his harsh exterior, but pronouncing it, she could feel a wave of sweetness enter her heart.

Oddly, that sweet thought brought her back down to earth. Hermione needed to tell him the news immediately so that he could make a decision. She got up and took the small box in her hands again, with a grateful thought to the boy who had probably saved their lives.

Yet, there was something odd with his gift. It was strangely heavy… and warm… and pulsing slowly… as if… as if…

With a sudden cry, the girl dropped the box on the floor. Before her terrified eyes, the object contorted and vibrated; then, with amazing rapidity, it changed its form and colour.

Something black and huge raised itself from the floor, and Hermione found herself looking into Lucius Malfoy's eyes. The blond wizard straightened his clothes and leaned on his walking stick, watching her with the same arrogant attitude he had displayed every time they had met in the past.

Her mouth opened in a gasp and she stood motionless, voice and body paralysed in terror. But Malfoy didn't do anything to frighten her. He just raised his cane in a greeting, bowed lightly, and a spark of pleasure lit in his eyes as he said, coldly polite as usual, "Finally we met again, Miss Granger! Thank you for inviting me into your haven… though I admit that you probably wouldn't have, had you known what that box really contained. But how can a woman resist a gift from a gallant admirer?"

He bent to watch her with a smile. The girl backed a step, still confused and desperately trying to find an escape, while her brain almost exploded under the myriad of emotions and thoughts that were filling it.

Robert! Robert had betrayed them! Robert had sold them to their enemies while playing the affectionate friend… Tears prickled in her eyes while a cold disillusion bit her heart. How stupid she had been, how foolish!

Then the pieces of the puzzle recomposed in her mind, and suddenly, she understood. That morning, the Death Eaters had found a way to discover the truth. Perhaps they had used Legilimency, but surely they had Imperiused Robert and forced him to guide them to the cottage. No wizard was allowed to see it, but evidently there was a leak in the plan, and the Death Eaters had figured it out. A Muggle had individuated the forbidden place for them, and by accepting his gift, Hermione has circumvented the protective charms…

She felt a cold wave of fear wash over her. What had happened to Robert? She could only hope that the boy had been allowed to reach his home after having completed a mission of which he was totally unaware… But now, how many other enemies were hiding outside, waiting to break in? Lucius Malfoy was still looking at her with a smirk, challenging her in silence. Hermione tried to speak, to warn Severus, but her mouth was dry.

And then the inevitable happened, though not exactly as she had imagined. Dressed in black trousers and with a black shirt loosely opened on his chest, Severus came out of his room.

The door he had left open showed an unmade bed. Calmly, almost languidly, he reached them, his characteristic sarcastic expression just veined by a hint of irritation. The girl looked at him and saw the sick pallor of his face glow against the dying flames in the fireplace.

Lucius Malfoy smiled meaningfully.

"Ah, Severus," he drawled. "Glad to see you."

"The feeling isn't mutual, Lucius," Severus said coldly. "You've just interfered with my plan."

"I'm deeply sorry." Malfoy curled his lips in educate disbelief. "I thought we should all obey our Master's orders, not use them to indulge our passions."

He bowed lightly. "Anyway, you did it. Congratulations for such an outstanding success," he added.

"It would have been a success if you hadn't spoiled it," Severus snapped angrily and crossed his arms.

"Again, I apologise. I couldn't have guessed you had such a delicate reason to lock up the house…" Lucius replied with an irritating smile. Severus snorted, and the two men looked at each other in challenge.

Keeping her eyes focused on her protector, Hermione partially followed the verbal skirmish while the rest of her focus was busy frantically planning an escape. She could see that Severus had his wand at his belt. Why, why wasn't he using it to blast the damn man before them? Was he trying to deceive Lucius? Her heart twisted in the hope of a miracle. Then the girl realised what they had just said, and this time, her heart trembled in fear and horror. Had SHE always been deceived? Had her life been entrusted to a traitor?

Malfoy continued with his exaggerated admiration. "So, your house was part of a plan to catch her? What a fabulous idea, Severus! Though I wonder how you lured her here." His eyes rested on the furniture with evident derision. "My manor would have offered a much better dwelling. But women are so unpredictable…"

Snape's lips curled in contempt. "You have always been unimaginative, Lucius," he replied quietly. "It's not luxury that attracts a girl like this."

"Yes, yes, I see what you mean…" Malfoy stifled a yawn. "After all, you have been her teacher for so many years! You surely know her… tastes."

Snape glared. "Let's not waste our time on idle chatter. Are you coming with me?"

"With great pleasure," Lucius nodded, and Hermione shivered and backed a step. No! That couldn't be possible!

Snape shot her a glance and extracted his wand.

"Better be prepared, Lucius," he warned, and the other wizard smiled condescendingly.

"A wand? Oh no, this time a stick will suffice."

And with a sudden, forceful, unpredictable movement, he raised his cane.

Still frozen in a haze of terror, Hermione saw the golden globe on the top of Lucius' stick trace a gracefully scintillating arc in the air… and collide brutally against Snape's nose with startling speed and violence.

The disagreeable sound of crushed bones awakened her instantly, and she winced at the cry of pain that followed. Droplets of blood spurted out everywhere. Taken by surprise, Snape had opened his arms and lost his balance under the blow, falling to the ground in a semi-conscious heap while his wand rolled on the floor.

In a silence heavy with menace, Lucius advanced slowly, clenching his fists.

"Idiot!" he spat in rage, towering over his fallen colleague and watching him wriggle and gasp on the floor, hands pressed on his broken nose.

"Damn you, Severus!" he continued, extracting a white handkerchief to pat his face, stained by Snape's blood. "Did you really think that the Dark Lord could be so easily tricked? He has been laughing at your pathetic efforts all the time!"

Lucius paused, panting in frustration, and put back the handkerchief in his small pocket, raising his head with a nervous gesture; his hair fell back at that movement, and Hermione stiffened, seeing the bruises on his cheekbones.

Malfoy intercepted her look; his brows furrowed in a menacing expression, then he lowered his eyes to the man still curled on the floor and let his rage burst free.

"Didn't you realise how foolish you have been?! The Master is too powerful for the miserable man you are, Severus… How could you lie to him? You've put all of us in danger!"

Lucius stopped abruptly and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I have been following you like a shadow since our last gathering," he stated quietly, "but your house was disguised too well, and I was beginning to fear I would never find it…"

He paused, and Snape finally lifted his eyes. Shocked, Hermione saw a pleading look diffuse upon his face.

"No, Lucius, you can't…" he croaked, raising a hand in a begging gesture; reverberating through his broken nose, his voice sounded weirdly distorted.

Malfoy frowned, looking uncomfortable.

"Our Master is not patient with those who fail, Severus," he murmured; their eyes met again, and he shrugged, averting his gaze with an incongruously regretful expression.

Silence fell for a moment; Lucius took a deep breath and lowered his head as if he was still debating with his conscience. Nevertheless, that mortal pause didn't last for long. The blond wizard crossed his arms and whispered, "But surely _he_ will be willing to forgive me, if I give him the girl."

His expression grew determined, and he finally stared at his fallen adversary.

"Time to call him, Severus. Sorry, old friend. I hope you'll be able to get out of it, as you always do."

"No, no, listen! You're wrong!" Snape pleaded and grabbed Lucius's robes, clinging to him in an apparent effort of raising from the floor.

The other wizard looked startled, then evidently irritated. Snape's action was impairing his movements and threatening to stain his clothes with the blood still flowing from the injured man's nose.

"Get back!" Lucius hissed. "How dare you touch me!"

And he lifted his cane as if preparing to strike again.

At that sight, Hermione's mind went blank, and a sudden fury rose inside her. Her body swayed and bent as if she was going to faint, then she gracefully hit the floor. With a swift move, her arm stretched and took Severus' wand before anybody else could react.

"_Stupefy_!" she exclaimed. Taken aback, Lucius only had time to widen his eyes in astonishment, then he fell down with a loud thump. A sharp cry followed his fall.

"NO!" Severus had raised a hand in a vain attempt to stop her, his face distorted by something even more intense than pain.

"No! No! NO! What have you done!" he cried with a nasal pronunciation that reminded her of Neville at the Ministry, the day they had tried to save Sirius.

But there was nothing amusing in the desperation Hermione could see in Severus' eyes and in the blood that kept trickling down his chin. The girl hurried at his side and put a hand on his shoulder, repressing a mad desire to hug him tightly: there was something immediate and much more helpful that she could do to assist him. Again, she raised his wand, pointing it at his face.

"_Epis_-"

"NO!" This time his voice was a roar, and he brutally hit the wand with his fingers, thus deviating the flash of light that had erupted. Hermione stared at him, baffled by his reaction.

"Do you realise what have you done?" Severus breathed in anguish.

"He would have called the Dark Lord," the girl replied. This time there were no other solution; magic simply must be used, couldn't he see it? But obviously he was confused, after such a blow.

Hermione spoke with her most reasonable tone. "I have stopped him, and now Professor Dumbledore will arrive to help us. We are safe."

She smiled proudly, but Severus watched her with horrified eyes, blood slowly soaking his shirt.

"You… You…" he stammered. "You don't understand. I was going to stop him without magic. But now… you've broken the trap too early!"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked frantically, her voice rising out of control. "Isn't professor Dumbledore supposed to come when the protective spells are broken?"

Severus let out a strangled sob. "No," he replied with a gasp, and his tone betrayed his panic. "Breaking the spells only reveals the house to our enemies. We are Plottable again. Soon they will be here! And we can't Disapparate any longer!"

Her eyes widened, and the girl choked a cry of horror. A mistake! She had made again an enormous mistake, and precisely the one their enemies had been hoping for. Everything would end in a handful of seconds.

She was going to die.

_Severus was going to die..._

Hermione watched him while her eyes filled with tears and her heart slowly tumbled down in a thousand of pieces. Why wasn't he cursing, shouting or accusing her? She deserved it… She had condemned them to death!

But as always, his brain worked quicker than her.

"Where's the envelope?" Severus asked, clinging to her arm and trying to get up. "Open the envelope!"

The girl paled, realising the answer that she was going to give. "It's in my drawer…"

Severus paled even more and pushed her back forcefully.

"Fetch it now!" he ordered. But, before she could take a step, a low harmonic sound vibrated in the air. Dark explosions of smoke seemed to erupt from the various sides of the living room and instantly transformed into black solid shapes. There was no escape. They were surrounded.

His head dropped in defeat. "Too late," he whispered.

* * *

**_The usual message from the author:_**

_Dear readers, at this point I think you have understood that the story isn't going to end with chapter 30. This is the surprise I had promised: I hope you will like it. :)_


	32. 31 – A Time to Live, a Time to Die

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**31 – A Time to Live, a Time to Die**

Hermione stiffened while a mad terror entered her heart.

Too many. They were too many. She glanced at the wand in her nerveless fingers, trying to decide if an attack could give her and Severus a chance: but no, it would undoubtedly be a suicide.

Helplessly, her head lowered… and doing that, she heard a whisper, such an imperceptible sound that she wondered if it had been produced by her imagination.

"_Trust me_."

Hermione interrupted her movement for an infinitesimal moment; then, feeling a new hope in her heart, she boldly raised her head at the dark figures standing around them. The Death Eaters stared back under their hoods, yet they didn't move. They seemed to be waiting for something - or somebody - in a chilling silence.

And finally, "somebody" arrived. With a sharp pop and a flash of light, the Dark Lord himself Apparated in the room, lips curling malignantly in a half smile.

In that exact moment, Severus snatched her wand – _his_ wand – and bowed deeply, letting droplets of blood splash on the floor.

"My Lord," he panted, "I brought you the Mudblood as you commanded."

…

Voldemort inclined his head, the half smile still dancing on his thin lips. His reptilian eyes considered the small group: the silent girl standing proudly in front of him – Hermione wondered if he could hear her heartbeats pounding madly in her ribcage – and the pale wizard at her side.

Silence was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Motionless like statues, the Death Eaters waited for a reaction from their master before hazarding a gesture.

"How gracious of you, Severus," the Dark Lord eventually declared, and at the sound of his voice, everybody in the room bowed deeply. A strange sort of wild anticipation was filling the air. With a shiver, Hermione understood that it was the excitement of the hunt: the prey had fallen in the hands of its pursuers, and now they were savouring their triumph.

Instinctively, her eyes turned to look again at the frightening figure in the middle of the room. It was the first time that she was meeting the Dark Lord face to face, and an uncontrollable terror was slowly taking control on her rationality.

Voldemort joined his hands with a deceivingly pleased expression.

"I'm glad to see how faithfully my orders have been obeyed, Severus. Now perhaps you will also explain what has happened here? Why is Lucius on the ground? And why are you bleeding? I can't believe that the Mudblood had the nerve to attack both of you… and win. Yet, I saw that she had your wand in her hands. What does this mean?"

Severus blinked rapidly and seemed to incongruously relax. His breath steadied, and he straightened his back in calm composure. Hermione imagined that he was preparing to face the pressure of those implacable teasing eyes and wondered how he could stand that gaze without wavering.

"There has been a misunderstanding, my Lord," he stated softly, nodding towards the fallen body on the floor. "Lucius sneaked into my house and interrupted my… plan, confronting himself with the girl. Her magic is very powerful, and I'm sure that she Confounded him. As a consequence, he hit me, thus allowing her to snatch my wand. But in doing so, she forced the trap to be activated… though a little earlier than I intended.

His voice was respectful but firm in a quiet way. Everybody in the room seemed to be hypnotised by his calm cadence.

"I hope my Master didn't deem his humble servant foolish enough to be ill-prepared for every conceivable situation. As a matter of fact, the only problem I had not foreseen was this sudden intrusion. I'm sorry to tell you, my Lord, that my efforts in extracting the secret have been abruptly interrupted and probably made vain by Lucius' arrogant arrival."

His lips curled in an ironic smile. "But arrogance always was one of Malfoy's family traits."

A stifled exclamation followed this statement.

"Narcissa," Voldemort said with frightening calm, without turning his head. "My patience is reaching its limits."

The woman tried to speak, but Voldemort silenced her by waving a hand in a threatening gesture. "Your husband has failed again, yet you still try to defend him against any evidence… You rely too much on your feelings. Perhaps you should learn from your sister."

A dark shape immediately left the ranks and knelt to kiss the hem of his cloak.

"Thank you, Master…" an ardent voice whispered. A hood slipped down, and the wild eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange sparkled in adoration.

The Dark Lord let her pay her homage; then he rested his eyes again on Snape while the woman backed reverently and joined her black companions.

"So, Severus, tell me something more about the plan you have kept so cunningly secret even to your Master. I know that this is your family house. Why did you make it Unplottable?"

Snape replied with his deep, rich voice, "This house is yours, my Lord, as is everything I possess. I have charmed it to lure the girl inside here and, at the same time, to create an inviolable prison from its walls."

"Yet I still don't understand why you deemed it necessary to make it Unplottable."

Voldemort's feral eyes didn't abandon his interlocutor.

"My Lord, it needed to be inaccessible. A misguided move could ruin a patient work of weeks," Snape replied quietly.

"That seems to be exactly what happened today. Let's hear Lucius," the Dark Lord ordered sharply.

Bowing in obedience, Severus pointed his wand.

"_Enervate_", he murmured. A dizzy Malfoy shook his head and opened his eyes with a moan, staring blankly at Severus. Then he realised where he was and, above all, who was around him. He raised a stunned look at the Dark Lord.

"M-Master," he stammered, and the confusion on his face made Voldemort smile his malignant smile again.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," the Dark Lord greeted him. "It seems that you ruined Severus' plan with your haste. And to your shame, you were even overcome by a Muggleborn. How do you justify yourself?"

"My Lord… I… I…" Lucius' eyes seemed to pop out while he looked around in desperation, searching for help. Hermione could see a subtle smile rise and fade on Severus's lips, and her heart dilated with joy. How clever he had been! How well he had played his cards, deceiving both Lucius and his master!

In the meantime, a confused and terrorised Malfoy was still stuttering apologies with a begging voice.

"My Lord, I followed your orders. You said "find the traitor" and I… I thought you meant..."

Suddenly he seemed to realise how the atmosphere had cooled. Everybody was staring at him in disapproval, so he chose the only option he had been left.

"I am a useless servant, Master," he pleaded. "But I am a loyal follower."

"Enough!" Voldemort silenced him. A ray of light suddenly flashed, and the still begging Lucius was hurled to the other end of the room. The wizard banged against the wall, and there he struggled to raise himself into a kneeling posture, looking scared but utterly relieved to have been spared a much worse punishment.

"I have no time to waste with your babble!" Voldemort declared harshly, and terror filled Hermione again at that sudden explosion of anger. She could see the black shapes around her shift uncomfortably, and her heart chilled. How could Severus still hope to save them?

"Tell me, Severus," Voldemort ordered sharply. "What did you discover?"

"Nothing, my Lord," the wizard replied composedly. "I had just begun my… exertions when Lucius arrived."

"It seems that she appreciated them, however, judging from the way she looks at you," Voldemort remarked coldly. Horrified, Hermione realised that her gaze had betrayed her feelings.

"Of course, my Lord," Snape replied without blinking. "The secret has been locked deep within her mind, and the only key that can open it is in her heart. If the secret were to be forced out, it would destroy her. It's a well plotted trick from your enemy."

"Dumbledore wouldn't do anything similar," Voldemort hissed. "He would never do something so dangerous."

He considered the girl again. "But there may be other methods to try."

His eyes met caressingly the blazing eyes of the woman he knew to be his most faithful follower. "A bit of Crucioing has untied much firmer tongues. What do you think, Bella, would you perform the spell for me?"

"With great pleasure, Master," the woman eagerly replied, stepping forward.

Hermione stiffened in panic and stopped her attempt to get near Severus at the last minute. He crossed his arms and bowed again.

"My Lord, please let me explain. The secret is… extremely delicate. That's why I planned this deception. Love is the only way to unlock it."

Voldemort's face opened in a repellent smile.

"Love!" He breathed. "Yes, this is Dumbledore, I recognise his touch."

Silence fell for a long moment. Hermione felt her heartbeats gradually slow down while Voldemort looked at her with a sardonic expression.

"He was right, of course, Severus. None of us would have thought of such an expedient. But I'm also sure that there is a way to break this ingenious spell. Love is a gullible force. It has too many chinks. Perhaps you haven't chosen the right one."

He chuckled darkly while Snape raised an impassive face.

"She must be… _willing_, my Lord," he said calmly.

"Oh, she will be!" Voldemort cruelly replied and waved his wand in the air.

Instantly, chains seemed to erupt from the ceiling and wrapped around Snape's wrists. With a sharp tug, they pulled him up till his feet barely touched the ground so that he was forced to stand on the tip of his toes. The shock and the violence of this treatment made him gasp in pain, and once more his nose began to bleed copiously while he panted for air.

Hermione paled; for a moment, her brain refused to work. What could she do now, defenceless and frightened as she was? Thus far, Severus had succeeded in defending them both. But had he acted only to gain time or had he followed a plan? Did he know something that she didn't? And was that story about love true? In which case, the Dark Lord had already won…

Uncontrollable tears filled her eyes, and her heart twisted in pain before _his_ pain.

"You, girl!" Voldemort commanded, and with horror, Hermione realised that he had been pretending till that moment, playing cat and mouse with Severus.

"It has been reported that you are very brilliant for a Muggle. Magic has its own ways, and I respect its manifestations, as weird as they might be... So, perhaps this time I could concede you a chance. Perhaps I could even allow myself to be merciful and offer you a painless death in exchange for the precious fragment concealed in your mind."

Hermione hesitated, lost, terrified, almost crying. What would she do? What _should_ she do?! Condemning the world to save herself? That was out of the question, of course, but Severus hanging helplessly before her was a frightful reality.

"I'm not used to waiting," Voldemort continued. "Each second you waste is going to diminish my offer. Soon it will be ashes like the branches that are burning in your fireplace…"

He smiled his horrid smile, evidently enjoying her panic.

"Still not convinced?" he teased her cruelly. "Perhaps I have a way to help your memory!"

A flash of light and Severus twitched and shuddered like a broken puppet. The Death Eaters laughed dutifully. Hermione backed a step and turned a desperate gaze on the Dark Lord.

"Ah, Severus!" he commented lightly, making the chained man wriggle and gasp again with another wave of his wand. "Your idea wasn't too good, after all. The girl is not interested. Your plan has failed. Maybe your… _love_ wasn't compelling enough for her. Especially when compared to a dreadful ending."

He paused to reflect. "Or perhaps I should chain her near you, so that she can savour your devotion by sharing your feelings. Wouldn't that be a nice idea?"

"No!" Severus panted. "No! She can't… be injured… if you want… to save the secret."

The Dark Lord shook his head with a derisive look.

"Who are you really trying to save, Severus? The secret... or the girl? This is the second time that you have begged me for the life of a Mudblood. You have always had a penchant for Muggle women, haven't you? Such despicable tastes… Should I remind you how it ended last time?"

Severus arched in agony, and Hermione couldn't resist any longer.

"I'm ready to make a deal," she announced abruptly.

* * *

**_Greetings from the author:  
_**

_To **Bianca**: Ciao, che piacere risentirti! Non sapevo se eri ancora con noi. Grazie per il tuo gentilissimo messaggio :)  
_

_To **amr**: thanks for your considerations. You have a very analytical mind. You would be the ideal previewer for those who, like me, write following more the gut than the brain ;) As you have seen, your assumptions were right, except for the identity of the tortured one, who was not Malfoy (and why should Lucius be punished? He just tried to obey his master, and I would say, he succeeded). Torture is not a thing I like to show anymore in my stories, but I thought that, being the Dark Lord a bull in a china shop, he would probably act like I described. You can easily see that I dislike Voldemort, a character that in Italian would be defined "un cattivo da operetta" (more or less, a classic, pathetic operetta villain)._

_Following these thoughts, I would like to add also these considerations about the previous chapter, aka the author's brilliant mind (?) at work, oh yeah: _

_Yes, it's true, it was foolish on the part of Hermione to leave the envelope in her desk. But she was feeling safe with Severus permanently there. She had been warned to be very attentive about a possible misuse of the envelope, so she probably thought that it was better to leave it in a safe place inside the house. Also, let's not forget how young Hermione is. Who wasn't a bit careless at her age? The humble author herself keeps being careless in spite of her many years...  
_

_And why Severus didn't monitor the meeting with Robert? Because he was jealous. Our dear professor detested his potential rival, but he thought that Robert was a Muggle and therefore harmless. So, Severus let emotion win over reason, and he chose to retreat and avoid a confrontation, letting Hermione free. He surely made a childish mistake, closing himself in his hurt feelings. However, childish but human, according to me. People make mistakes continuously, especially when they are worn out by situations so distressing to make them crave for "normality". Didn't James Potter make the same mistake, forgetting his wand somewhere else when Voldemort came to destroy his family? _

___Mistakes _make stories interesting ;)  



	33. 32 – Are You Sure?

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**32 – Are You Sure?**

An outraged silence followed Hermione's statement.

"You are ready to… _deal_?" the Dark Lord hissed menacingly.

The girl nodded fiercely, blinking back her tears and squaring her shoulders. If she had to die, then she would choose her way. A bitter pride filled her heart and she resolutely crossed her arms, preparing to fight. True or false, Severus's speech had given her many precious elements she could use against her enemies.

First and most important, she had the advantage. She had an invaluable secret hidden in her mind and it couldn't be extorted by violence. Her enemies would therefore be forced to negotiate with her, exactly as they had done with Harry in the Ministry, where they had tried to steal the prophecy and ended instead by being blatantly defeated. That memory lit a tremulous hope in her heart. Maybe… Maybe luck would help her again today, in spite of her catastrophic situation. Maybe …

But, whatever might happen, Severus MUST be protected. If she had to die, he would have to survive. Hermione lifted her chin arrogantly.

"As you said, magic has its own ways," she declared, trying to keep her voice steady. "And magic has chosen me as a recipient for the secret."

Impetuously, Bellatrix advanced. "Let me deal with her, Master. I'm sure she is bluffing."

Irritated, Voldemort arrested the woman with a wave of his hand. Bellatrix backed off immediately while the Dark Lord dilated his nostrils, furrowing his brows into a scowl. Hermione paled at those alarming signals; nevertheless, a whole month spent with a scowling man had trained her well enough to hold her place.

"I'm sheltered by the secret," she reminded him. "The secret is my protector, a much worthier protector than any other spell. Respect its will."

"Are you trying to scare me?" Voldemort smiled suavely his repugnant smile. "I would call that an ambitious goal."

Silence fell for a long moment, then a chilling sound filled the air: Voldemort was laughing. The Death Eaters followed his example, and Hermione felt a flood of pure terror ripple down her spine.

The Dark Lord straightened himself, and his figure seemed to suddenly blaze.

"You played your part, girl! Now it's time to show my power!" he exclaimed, lifting his wand in a menacing gesture. "You will reveal the secret to me or you will soon beg for mercy that won't be conceded."

"No!" Severus lifted his head in a supreme effort; the eyes of everybody in the room focused on his shattered figure. "Don't touch her! The spell can't be broken against her will!"

The Dark Lord paused while an evil expression slowly formed on his face. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, in startling contrast with his previous outburst.

"Perhaps you're right, Severus…" he murmured. "Last time I didn't consider your request, and I was reduced to a shadow. I'm not going to commit the same mistake twice."

He stood still for a moment, and Hermione felt the increasing pressure of his malignant power closing around them.

"There is only one solution then," Voldemort declared softly. "Let's invoke the spell. Let _love_ follow its course."

A spark of light and Severus arched in torment, fists clenched and teeth gritted in the effort of fighting back waves of intolerable pain. Terrified, Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and cried, "No! NO! Wait! I… I…"

"I assume you are ready to speak?" Voldemort asked sharply, lowering his wand with frightful slowness. Severus dropped his head. His body relaxed, and he hung suspended by his wrists, swinging slowly back and forth.

Hermione nodded frantically. A white flash of adrenaline blinded her mind while she looked at Voldemort and shivered in terror. She could not think properly. Her brain was filled by thoughts that kept repeating in a horrifying sequence. She was lost. Severus was lost. They were both lost. Her friends were lost. Their enemies had won and the world was lost. Unless she…

_Unless she…_

She gasped softly.

"I will reveal the secret to you," she said, stunned by a new idea that had suddenly lit in her mind and lowering her head to conceal her expression. It was a desperate try; her eyes could betray her intentions.

The Dark Lord smiled cruelly. "So, it actually was love…" He glanced exultantly at his followers. "And, as always, love failed."

Hermione inhaled sharply, speaking as if every word was exacting an immense effort from her. "The key of the secret is hidden in my…"

"NO!" Severus cried, struggling desperately as if trying to free himself. "No! Don't say anything!"

Immediately, the Dark Lord pointed his wand at him; this time, the wizard only convulsed briefly, too exhausted to resist the torture.

Hermione widened her eyes. "Don't!" she cried in panic. Once more terror filled her veins upon seeing Severus swing like a smashed puppet, and she pleaded with a broken voice, "Please don't! I will tell you everything, but please stop!"

"Speak then, and be convincing," Voldemort ordered coldly, lifting his wand as if preparing to strike again.

The girl sobbed.

"The key of the secret is enclosed in an envelope."

"Ahh…" Voldemort breathed and smirked at his dangling captive. "It seems that we have finally reached the truth, have we, Severus?"

He turned his red-glowing eyes to Hermione. "Where is the envelope, girl?"

Hermione watched Severus oscillate slowly, following the movements of the Dark Lord's wand. Voldemort seemed to play with him, and she had the horrible sensation that he was just waiting for her revelation to definitely slay his prisoner. Her voice wavered.

"It's here, in my… in a desk… I can… please, have mercy..."

Tears were trickling uncontrollably; the girl didn't have to pretend to be scared. Fear, pain and doubt were ripping her heart. Had she made a mistake again? Had she signed Severus' condemnation?

Voldemort waved his wand with a triumphant expression.

"_Accio_ envelope!" he ordered.

A strange, musical sound answered that call. All who were gathered in the room could hear a heavy object shake and vibrate behind one of the closed doors. The desk was struggling to obey the command and release the precious content hidden in a drawer. And finally it succeeded.

In reverent silence, followed by the anxious gazes of the Death Eaters, the envelope flew and whirled elegantly before stopping its flight in mid-air, in front of the Dark Lord.

"No!" Severus panted. "No!"

Everybody was staring at the black-clad man standing absolutely still. Hermione could perceive the impatience behind that his forced immobility. Yet Voldemort didn't try to catch the object so graciously offering itself. He just frowned.

"There is Magic, and powerful Magic, inside this piece of paper," he murmured. Slowly, he considered the golden, flourished letters written on it.

"_In your name_," he read, and his lips contorted in a dark grimace.

Hermione could hear the blood pounding loudly in her ears while her eyes focused with desperate intensity on the hideous figure at the centre of the room.

_Open it!_ _Open it!_ _Please! Please!_ She mutely begged. Her hands involuntarily clenched while she curled in prayer…

With a quick flicker of his wand, the Dark Lord threw the envelope in the fireplace. The flames roared, swallowing it in a myriad of green sparks.

…

Hermione and Severus gasped in horror, turning two desperate faces at their enemy. Voldemort smiled again his feral smile.

"It was a trap, wasn't it?" he asked silkily. His expression hardened. "I have indulged your whim, girl. Now it's time to put an end to these games and talk seriously."

Hermione stared helplessly, then in a desperate attempt she grabbed Severus' wand, previously dropped from his numb fingers. Holding it with trembling hands, she turned to look at Voldemort and discovered in surprise a weirdly pleased expression on his face.

"Just as I expected," he murmured. "Brave as a true Gryffindor should be. And Lord Voldemort honours those who are brave."

He paused, focusing his implacable eyes on the dangling man near her. "But no mercy is conceded to those who betray."

The chains that were holding Severus suddenly opened, and he fell to the ground. Instantly, Hermione crouched before him like a living shield.

"Touching," Voldemort grimly approved. Then, impatiently, "But useless. You should have learned who Lord Voldemort is by now."

An almost imperceptible flicker of his hand, and a red cut appeared on Hermione's wrist. Curling in pain, the girl let go of her wand with a cry; Severus grabbed it immediately and rose staggering to face his master.

Voldemort crossed his arms in derision. "Do you mean to defy me, you pitiful wreck? Do you want your punishment to be even harsher?"

Severus was still struggling for breath, nevertheless he raised his wand in silent, unmistakable challenge.

"Let me handle him," Bellatrix pleaded, eager as always.

"Yes, master, let us have the traitor," other voices joined her as if anxious to confirm their loyalty.

The Dark Lord shook his head with a malignant smile.

"No, Severus has been a trusty follower and he belongs to me. Let him explain why he changed sides so inopportunely. Remorseful because of the girl… or simply revengeful? In any case, he is doomed. Kneel before me, Severus Snape, and face death with the remaining shreds of dignity you possess."

As his only answer, Severus lifted his wand. The room was lightened by bolts of light, followed by loud explosions. Still curled on the ground, Hermione followed the exchange with frightened eyes. Severus was counteracting the spells, protecting her with his body. But the duel was imbalanced. He was too weak, and the Dark Lord too powerful. Soon a hex traced a thin stripe of blood across his cheek. He staggered and fell back, struggled to raise himself again but found the tip of Voldemort's wand pointed at his throat.

"I've won again, Severus, and I always will. _Expelliarmus_!"

A quick gesture, and the wand the man was holding was violently snatched from his hand and rolled on the floor, out of his reach. Voldemort spoke sharply.

"And now, girl, the secret. I have no more patience to waste. The secret! Or your lover is going to die in a horrible way before your eyes."

"You've lost!" Severus panted, still trying to shield Hermione. "You cannot extort the secret from her. And killing me won't give you the secret either."

A new gash marked his face, and he stifled a cry.

"Then let's see how long she'll be able to see you suffer!" Voldemort replied in fury. "I'm going to personally perform your punishment. Nobody defies the Dark Lord and lives to tell it."

"Are you sure, Tom?" A mild voice asked.

Hermione widened her eyes. Albus Dumbledore had appeared under the frame of the main door. Around him, a circle of people seemed to materialise with a sequence of soft pops while the living room magically enlarged to contain them all.

The old wizard crossed his arms and smiled to his dumbstruck adversary.

"It seems to me that, as always, you have been exceedingly confident."

* * *

_I hope that the many anxious readers are feeling better now. The cavalry arrived, and Dumbledore with it. Although, surprises can always happen... ;)  
_


	34. 33 – It's Not My Moment Yet!

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

**33 – It's Not My Moment Yet!**

Hermione felt tears of relief and joy wet her cheeks. Help had finally arrived, though something could still possibly go wrong… but her heart refused to consider such a possibility, now that Albus Dumbledore himself was facing Voldemort. And, in any case, even if something would go wrong, she could at least be comforted by the loving presence of so many friends around her. She smiled at Kingsley and Moody and Tonks and Lupin amongst the others, and her smile was silently returned by their concerned gazes.

In the middle of the living room, now as large as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, Voldemort was staring at his old enemy as if assessing the situation. But his considerations came to an abrupt end when, with a sudden, unpredictable move, he aimed his wand at the defenceless Severus and Hermione still crouched on the floor. Reacting with astonishing rapidity, Dumbledore counteracted the curse by creating a sort of transparent bubble around them: the shield refracted the flux, redirecting it to the ceiling where it opened a hole in the wooden planks. Both the actions had been so quick that they were barely perceptible to the circle of spectators watching in awe.

Voldemort gasped, tightened his wand in evident rage and turned to face the older wizard.

"So, it was true," he burst out, dilating his nostrils in the effort of controlling his breathing. "Snape IS a traitor."

"A traitor?" Dumbledore replied sternly. "There is only one traitor in this room, and I'm speaking to him right now. A talented, powerful and therefore even more despicable corrupter of our blood, of our customs and of our world."

His gaze slowly considered the Death Eaters.

"And miserable, petty opportunists are those who followed him in his path," the old wizard concluded disdainfully.

Many hooded figures couldn't resist the accusation sparkling in those fierce blue eyes and dropped their heads. Others instead reacted by raising their chins in challenge. At the other side of the room, Dumbledore's allies waited in disciplined silence, staring composedly at their leader.

Voldemort glanced at his followers and replied menacingly.

"You old fool! How dare you cast such ridiculous charges against me? How can you accuse me of betraying my blood? My family descends directly from Salazar the great! My life has been spent in the search of the major glory of Magic and of the magical world. I know secrets your pathetic senile mind can't even imagine!"

"I can't deny that I am much less interested and skilled than you in such subjects, Tom, especially after my youth… But it was an unarmed Muggleborn who destroyed your body and dispersed your spirit. Perhaps you should ask yourself whether your search missed something… essential."

Voldemort contorted his lips. "Something… _essential_?" he repeated with a sneer. "I know what you mean, Dumbledore, and yours are the babblings of a decrepit old man with a limited mind!"

He laughed triumphantly, and some of his followers imitated him, though with visible nervousness. "Your assumptions never found confirmation in this world!"

"Neither did yours," the old wizard replied calmly.

Voldemort became livid and raised his wand again.

"Then let Magic decide," he replied in a low, cruel tone.

Inside her protective shell, Hermione widened her eyes at that challenge. Still panting in pain, Severus shifted near her, trying to get free from the bubble. She put a hand on his arm.

"Stay with me," she murmured. Surprisingly, he obeyed.

An instant later, the room was illuminated by what looked like a violent storm. Flashes of lights of incredible power crossed the air while the most amazing transformations took place before the astonished eyes of those present.

For many long moments, none of the two wizards seemed to prevail. Then something unexpected happened. The fireplace lightened with a green emerald light, and a small whirling figure tumbled out of it, scattering ashes all around. With immense surprise, followed by immense panic, Hermione recognised Harry, immediately joined by a staggering Ron.

"Potter!" Voldemort cried, and a savage expression of joy lit up his face.

"Harry! What are you doing here?" Dumbledore exclaimed, anxiety clearly perceivable in his voice.

The boy didn't answer but advanced calmly, facing his nemesis with a resolute expression. With a forceful wave of his wand, Voldemort cast a huge wave of energy against Dumbledore in order to interrupt their duel and confront the new enemy. Two enormous snakes raised their heads towards the old wizard, hissing in menace. Concealed by the gigantic monsters he had created, Voldemort turned immediately to aim his wand at Harry. A blinding flash sprang from its tip but, instinctively, the boy ducked, and the light travelling at lightening speed disappeared right into the green flames behind his back.

Furious, Voldemort tried to raise his arm to strike again, but he couldn't in spite of his increasingly desperate attempts: the light erupting from his wand had somehow connected to the flames in an uninterrupted line. Reacting to the hex, the fireplace roared and began a violent struggle, changing shape and dimensions in a wild dance. A green vortex made by rotating spirals of smoke appeared amongst the flames, and an ominous presence seemed to fill the room.

"What is it? _WHAT IS IT_?" Bellatrix shrieked, backing off with eyes dilated in fear. Voldemort paled and tried to draw back his arm, but the light ejected by his wand seemed to have connected indissolubly with the frightening power in the fireplace. Struggling uselessly to free himself from the grip, Voldemort screamed, a scream of pure pain and horror.

"No!" he cried. "Let me go! NO! NO!"

Everybody was paralysed by a supernatural terror. The Death Eaters drew back, abandoning their master to that unknown entity. Terrified, Harry and Ron pasted themselves against the walls, one in front of the other at the opposite sides of the room, careful not to touch the mortal flux twitching and pulsing between their bodies. Shaking his head with a disconcerted frown, Dumbledore lowered his wand and watched his enemy helplessly fight against his fate.

Step after step, inch after inch, Voldemort was being dragged towards the fireplace, inexorably pulled by the ray of light of his own wand. As soon as he touched the vortex, his body began to fade in the green light. His face altered in an expression of panic, and he begged again, "No, please, no! Not now! It's not my moment yet!"

Then he vanished in a green puff of smoke.

…

An astonished silence filled the room, and in that absolute soundlessness, the bubble shielding Hermione and Severus broke with a startling pop. Reacting to the noise, the stunned Death Eaters suddenly came back to life.

Some tried to Disapparate, but that wasn't possible anymore, so their attempts ended in useless rotations that left them panting and confused. Some surrendered almost immediately with a strange sort of relief on their faces. And finally, few of the most determined ones – included Bella - tried to fight against the Aurors and the people of the Order, but they were soon overcome.

In a little while, a simulacrum of calm was restored; then, in that strange atmosphere made of murmurs, sighs and shallow breathings, Harry's voice broke the enchantment.

"But WHAT happened?" he asked Dumbledore, and everybody turned to look at the old wizard with questioning eyes, the Aurors as well as the Death Eaters. Slowly straightening himself with the help of Hermione, Severus stared at the old wizard with a frown.

"Well, Harry…" Dumbledore replied with a curiously annoyed expression. "You shouldn't have followed me. Neither should Mr. Weasley. Anyway, I'm sorry to tell you that it was something completely unexpected. He called on Magic to decide, and as you see, it did. By hexing the flames instead of you, Voldemort opened a connection in the Floo. An unlucky combination – for him, of course – that sent him away to an unknown location and an undefined time."

Everybody gasped, and Dumbledore shrugged, looking irritated again.

"For all we know, at the moment he might be in the past or in future. Facing mysterious situations and adversaries. He is probably regretting his imprudence right now…"

Getting a bit nearer, Harry whispered, "But… but this means that he is alive, and that we might see him again in THIS world?"

"Ah, Harry!" Dumbledore sighed. "That's exactly the risk… And something tells me that we WILL meet him again. Resourceful as he has always been, Tom will probably find a way to come back. But till that moment-"

He was suddenly interrupted by the shrieking voice of Bellatrix, shouting wildly, "You cannot win! He will be back! The Dark Lord can't be defeated by such childish tricks! He will come back, and he'll find me waiting for him!"

She laughed in folly, thrashing against Alastor Moody, who had firmly grabbed her by her wrists.

"Yes, of course, Madam Lestrange," Dumbledore replied in a tiredly polite tone. "We all know your dedication. I'm sure the Wizengamot will be happy to hear about such admirable commitment directly from you."

He turned to the old Auror. "The Charms have been reinstalled. Now, Alastor, if you would please…"

Moody nodded. Repressing a dark grin, he cast an Incarcerous spell at the still violently rebelling woman and then they both Disapparated. Immediately after, under Shacklebolt's guidance, the Aurors and the Members of the Order helped gather the remaining Death Eaters in a line. The Malfoys were amongst them as they had been the first to surrender. Narcissa had joined Lucius as soon as Voldemort had disappeared, and now they both were looking sadly at the triumphant faces around them.

Kingsley Shacklebolt advanced. "Come with me, Malfoy," he said softly. "Azkaban is waiting for you and for your wife."

Narcissa lowered her head with a sob. Lucius clenched his fists in impotence, and the couple began to follow the imposing black man. But after a few steps, Lucius unexpectedly halted, and before Kingsley could stop him, he went to kneel at Severus' feet with an imploring expression.

"Please…" he begged. "Please tell him that we were forced, that they had my son… We couldn't put Draco's life at risk…"

Still swaying after the torture he had undergone, Severus nonetheless stiffened and crossed his arms, looking at Malfoy in silence. Near him, Hermione was watching the scene, a strange lump in her throat. Their victory somehow had a bitter taste now.

"Please!" the blond wizard prayed. "Severus, please… we have always been friends, haven't we?"

His eyes seemed to notice only in that moment the broken nose, the gashes and the bruises on Snape's face, and his voice trailed off in panic.

"I… I didn't hit you to kill you… you know that, Severus… but they had Draco."

Tonks reached Narcissa. "Let's go, Auntie," she said softly.

Kingsley put a hand on Lucius' shoulder.

"Time to leave, Malfoy," he ordered. "Spare your excuses for the Dementors."

At those terrible words, Lucius paled, and freeing himself from Shacklebolt's grip with a sudden move, he turned to Dumbledore.

"No!" he cried, "Don't touch her! Take me, kill me, but don't touch her!"

An immense silence followed his words.

"Please," he repeated, and his voice wavered. "Dumbledore, please… Not my wife…"

He curled and buried his face in his hands. Still standing protectively near Severus, Hermione felt something painful twist in her heart.

"Headmaster, please," she asked, and everybody looked at her in surprise. "May I join Mr. Malfoy in his plea for mercy?"

Astonished, Lucius raised his head and stared agape for a moment; then he tried to take her hand to kiss it. Hermione impulsively backed away.

"No!" she said, unable to express her feelings in a more coherent way. "I'm doing it only for Draco."

Severus was still silent, watching her with a wondering frown. Dumbledore advanced and bowed politely. "This is very generous from your part, Miss Granger. I can't promise anything, but I will try to fulfil your wish. I'll ask that both Narcissa and Lucius aren't brought to Azkaban… at least until their trial."

"Thank you," Lucius whispered. With an effort, he got up, then both he and his wife followed Kingsley, casting the girl a last, incredulous, grateful glance before Disapparating.

One by one, the Death Eaters left to meet their judgement, escorted by the Aurors and the people of the Order. Hermione timidly waved goodbye to Lupin before he too Disapparated with the Incarcerated Rookwood. And then, only the boys and the mildly smiling Dumbledore remained at the other side of the room.

"Time we exchange a word, Headmaster," Severus said coldly.

* * *

_I would like to thank again all the kind people who are sending me so many nice messages. Grazie! :)_

_PS: Dreama, didn't I tell you that I am a very soft-hearted old lady? Do you trust me now? ;)_


	35. 34 – Would You Please Go Away?

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Thanks to my readers and reviewers._

**34 – Would You Please Go Away?**

The room had shrunk, returning again to its previous and much smaller dimensions. The effect was depressing, but Hermione didn't care. She was finally allowed to embrace her friends, and she threw herself in their arms, smiling through her tears.

"_Harry_! _Ron_! I'm so happy! I thought I would never see you again!"

Harry returned her hug with affection, but Ron was even more eager and kissed her on her cheek. Impulsively, she kissed him back. Embarrassed and pleased at the same time, the red-haired boy grinned and tried to tease her.

"Well, after a month in this place, no wonder you are so distraught," he commented with an expressive grimace.

Hermione frowned, but Ron didn't seem to notice.

"And living with _him_!" he added, winking meaningfully at his bespectacled companion. "That's enough to make anybody crazy, don't you think, Harry?"

Instinctively, the girl turned her head. At the other corner of the room, Dumbledore was speaking with Snape. The younger wizard looked very angry, and Hermione had the painful impression that, in spite of the distance, he had heard Ron's disagreeable remarks. Anxious, she pricked up her ears, trying to catch at least fragments of the conversation between the two wizards while she gave distracted answers to the many questions her friends were asking.

"Glad to see you are well, Severus," Dumbledore was saying, and with a flicker of his hand, he recovered Snape's wand from the corner where it lay, following his fight with Voldemort.

"Spare me your cordiality, Albus!" Snape retorted rudely, grabbing the thin rod. Droplets of blood started to trickle again from the gash on his cheek. "I'm fed up with your tricks! Why didn't you tell me about the Floo?"

"Ah! So that's the reason! I was wondering why you looked so angry…" Dumbledore replied with his mild smile. "But, really, there is no reason to be upset. That was only a way to keep the situation under control. Especially after your last meeting with Tom. You have been ill for a while, and I needed news."

"You needed news? _You needed news_?!" Snape exclaimed, getting more and more furious. "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps somebody less… _benevolent_ could have used the passage you had so graciously opened?"

Suddenly, Hermione remembered the green sparkles that had lightened the room during some of her last conversations with Severus. Her brain focussed on the conversation behind her back, and the comments Harry and Ron were making became an indistinct noise in the background.

"My dear boy, though perfectly understandable after the tragic moments you've undergone, you are being a bit too melodramatic today. Your fireplace was connected directly to my fireplace, and I constantly kept an eye on it. I don't think that Tom would choose to pass through Hogwarts to enter this house. In fact, Lucius found a much easier way to sneak in… a way that Miss Granger graciously provided."

Dumbledore smiled again, but his eyes weren't twinkling as usual. Hermione reddened with shame. Severus too reddened, but in rage.

"Then why didn't you come to help when I was ill? You left us at the mercy of the events!"

"Of course. You see, this was precisely my intention."

"Your… intention?!" The younger wizard almost choked at those words.

"Let me explain. If you had known that the Floo was here, you would have used it. But this place was supposed to be a trap."

Completely forgetting her friends, Hermione whirled on her heels and reached the two men at the other side of the room. Neither of them seemed to appreciate her arrival, but she didn't care.

"Professor," she asked quietly to Dumbledore, "I had been told that there was an invaluable secret hidden in my mind and that it had to be protected at any cost."

Harry and Ron approached cautiously, watching her with widened eyes. Again, she didn't care.

"Now you are saying that this house was supposed to be a trap?"

Dumbledore smiled nervously. "Miss Granger, there is no need to look so upset. Everything had been planned in advance."

Hermione glanced at Severus and her voice hardened.

"Even that?" she asked, pointing at the broken nose and at the gashes on his face.

"Miss Granger, this is a war and wars have to be fought cruelly. Professor Snape has faced much more difficult situations during these years."

"Yes," Snape snapped bitterly, "but risking my own life, not somebody else's!"

Ignoring Snape, Dumbledore stared condescendingly at the girl.

"However, my dear, I'm happy to tell you that you have no more need to worry. I'll tell you a secret. There is absolutely no secret in your brain. But Voldemort bit the bait and that's the important thing."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. No secret? _No secret?! _ She had been living for weeks with the weight of an unknown entity solidly installed in her mind; and now, even though her brain hadn't effectively been touched, she felt as if a part of it had violently been ripped, and swayed under that impression.

"You mean… you mean that you put her in danger _uselessly_?" Severus asked with a slow, deadly timbre.

Still ignoring the irate man at his side, Dumbledore continued with a radiant smile, "I'm sure that you see the point. You were hidden in a safe, protected place. Voldemort was employing all his resources to find the secret. As soon as I let him know about you-"

"WHAT?" Snape interrupted him again. "You… you spread the news? _On purpose_?

"My dear boy!" Dumbledore now looked decidedly irritated. "Please use the brilliant mind you've always possessed! Of course I spread the news! It was meant to make Tom focus only on you and forget his other projects… including Harry. A perfect opportunity for a trap."

Hermione was still shocked. "But… but…" she stammered, yet she couldn't conclude her sentence because this time Severus interrupted her by roaring, "YOU-HAVE-RISKED-HER-LIFE! Today she could have been killed! I have been tortured! And all for nothing!"

"He is not completely wrong," Ron murmured uncertainly, and Dumbledore crossed his arms, encircling them all in a severe glance.

"The trap would have worked perfectly if Miss Granger's imprudence hadn't led to her meeting that Muggle boy."

"_Muggle boy_?" muttered Ron. "What Muggle boy?"

Dumbledore scowled and Ron immediately cringed. The older wizard nodded curtly and continued. "He was the only flaw in an impeccably developing mechanism. The plan would have reached its goal without the sufferings exacted today, IF ONLY that unnecessary variable had not been introduced."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. Suddenly, she felt all the weight of that terrible day and staggered back. At that sight, Dumbledore smiled again and recovered his paternal expression.

"Now, now, Miss Granger, all is well that ends well!" he comforted her. "Everybody can make a mistake. Merlin knows if I haven't made mine, years ago…"

His tone had unexpectedly become bitter, and for a moment, the old wizard lowered his head. Then he raised it and said amiably again to the girl, "Now I would suggest you to get ready. You are tired, and this has been a very long day. Time for us to go back to where we belong."

Blankly, Hermione walked towards her room, followed by the puzzled Harry and Ron, while Dumbledore turned to Severus. In the silence that had fallen, his words were easily audible.

"I believe it's also time to take care of your nose, don't you think, Severus? I'll fix it for-"

"No, you won't!" the younger wizard replied sharply, backing off with a resentful expression. "Let me be, Albus," he added sombrely. "I don't need your bloody compassion!"

Dumbledore tightened his lips. "I see you are still a bit upset, Severus. Very well, we will have a chat in the castle later."

"The Headmaster's going to tear a strip off the greasy git tonight," Ron murmured with satisfaction, entering Hermione's room; then he sat on the bed and stretched himself lazily, considering the place and its furniture with a meaningful expression.

"Wow!" he whistled. "I thought my house was… well, you know. But this! This is even worse! What a hovel!"

Instinctively, Hermione glanced back. Through the open door, she could see that Dumbledore had entered the kitchen but Severus was still at his place, alone and rigid in a stiff posture, ears and cheeks as red as if they were glowing. This time it was more than clear that he had heard everything.

"So, you cooked for him?" Ron was going on imperturbably. "And shared the same… bathroom? Bloody hell!" He elbowed Harry.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry replied softly, his eyes set on Hermione. The girl felt suddenly hurt. Useless… It had been useless… Thirty days in that house and to what end?

Something burning ignited inside her, and with alarming calm, she addressed the red-haired boy sitting on her bed.

"I appreciate your help, Ron, but what about giving me a break after such a demanding day?"

"What? I don't understand…" the boy looked puzzled, and she continued sharply, "No wonder, you've always been slow!"

"But, 'Mione…" Ron interjected.

"And my name is NOT 'Mione!" she shouted ferociously. Harry glanced at them both in embarrassment, biting his lip, but it was Ron's turn to be irritated now.

"Okay, okay, perhaps I shouldn't have, but aren't you happy that we are all safe?"

"We are not ALL safe," Hermione replied, and her eyes rested again on the dark man waiting alone in the living room.

"Oh, please! Don't tell me that you feel sorry for him!" Ron exclaimed, a bit louder than advisable. "Come on, didn't you hear what Dumbledore said? After all, he was a Death Eater! I'm sure that he is used-"

"SHUT UP, RON!" Harry tugged him violently.

"But whose side are you on, Harry?" Ron turned to his friend, who was watching Hermione concernedly. "I thought we all agreed that Snape is a nasty git. What the hell is happening here? She should be happy to leave this dustbin and come back to…"

He stopped. Hermione was facing him with eyes shining with tears. But hers were tears of rage.

"That's enough, Ronald," she said quietly, and the boy could easily perceive a repressed fury. She was controlling her tone, which made the situation look even scarier. "Now would you please go away?"

Harry sprang to his feet. "It's okay, Hermione, we're leaving now. Please don't cry."

His sincere apologies made her feel even worse. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry, we'll wait for you at Hogwarts," Harry replied, and Ron added hesitantly, "Yes, okay, sorry, I'm sorry, you know that sometimes I behave stupidly…"

"Sometimes?!" she exclaimed, and smiled in spite of the tears.

Ron smiled back uncertainly, scratching his head, then he and Harry hurried to leave and enter the living room. And there they stopped again in confusion.

"Ah, er, Professor…" Harry hesitantly said. "Well… I… thank you."

With frightening calm, Snape turned his head to look at him. A bitter smile curled his lips.

"Finally learned some manners, Potter?"

"Er, good afternoon, Professor," Ron inserted nervously. This time, Snape's eyes became icy, and the boy reddened with embarrassment.

A long, eternal moment passed, then Dumbledore entered the room and Snape seemed to renounce the fight.

"Time to go, children. Let's use the Floo, I have opened another and much safer connection in the oven."

The man and the boys looked at the old wizard with eyes widened in astonishment, but he only smiled, and turning his head towards Hermione's room, he spoke politely. "We are leaving, Miss Granger. See you in Hogwarts as soon as you are ready."

He nodded to Snape. "Severus, I'll wait for you in my office this night."

Snape bowed in silence, his eyes still inexpressive.

The girl appeared under the doorframe.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said, and smiled wearily at her friends as a goodbye. The boys followed Dumbledore to the kitchen, and Hermione could distinctly perceive Ron whisper to Harry, "You see? She smiled. It's only the stress, she is not really angry…"

"Shut up," Harry replied automatically before entering the magically enlarged oven. Both he and Ron disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

Silence fell once more in the room and, alone again, Hermione and Severus looked at each other.

* * *

_**The usual message from the author:** _

_I see that you are all curious and impatient to know where the story is leading. Some readers have been disoriented by these last chapters, many have questions that urge to be replied, others feel sorry because the story is reaching its end... so, each one of you is waiting for "answers"._

_I can only say: please, be patient. Answers are beginning to arrive, slowly but continuously, from now on. Today you have been answered about the famous secret, and while I'm writing these lines, I'm trying to anticipate your reactions...  
_

_Remember that there are two endings. And please, consider also that this is not a conventional love story: I suppose you have noticed it by now ;) _

_I hope you will enjoy what is left. But if you shouldn't, I hope you will accept at least my thanks for the time you dedicated to my creation... and for your patience in reading my messages :)  
_


	36. 35 – Is It So Difficult To Understand?

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my very patient readers and reviewers._

**35 – Is It So Difficult To Understand?**

Hermione felt a twinge of pain inside. Everything had ended, but in such a discouraging way! Yet they were all alive, and that was still an amazing sensation after the ordeal they had endured… At least, she should be happy to leave that horrid house… but no, even that thought wasn't a comforting one. Strange how only a few days before she was craving to go back to Hogwarts, and now that prospect had become absolutely intolerable!

The girl looked at Snape. His nose was swollen and bluish, and he was breathing with evident difficulty. But his whole face was a mess of bruises and cuts… Yet he had refused Dumbledore's help. How to heal his wounds and, above all, his spirit?

Another glance at his exhausted expression put an end to her musing: he needed a proper medication and a good rest. Talking would come later. Now they must go back as soon as possible.

"I will be ready to leave in a few moments…" Hermione announced, though her heart was rebelling at the idea.

"Yes, get ready," Snape replied bitterly. "It's time to go home. To a real home. Not the hovel in which you have been forced to stay all these days."

The girl froze. He had heard. She mentally cursed Ron and his big mouth.

"I apologise for Mr. Weasley," she declared quietly, and the desire to soothe him compelled her to continue. "He couldn't know what you-"

"I don't need _your_ apologies!" Snape replied sharply. "He is your friend, and you will always find a way to justify him. Exactly as you did for Lupin."

"But you promised that we too would be friends in a happier time," Hermione reminded him, hoping that he could feel the longing in her voice. "Hasn't that moment arrived?"

He sneered. "What an unusual idea of a happier time you have!"

Ah! So he had already recovered his nasty façade, even before reaching Hogwarts. Many contrasting feelings rose and merged in her heart, coalescing into anger. Anger against the world, against Voldemort, against professor Dumbledore, against everything and everybody. She too had been deceived and hurt! If that was what Harry was going to pay to be the Chosen One, well, no wonder that he was constantly ready to react heatedly and behave irresponsibly.

However, discussing was useless… Everything was useless at that point!

Hermione inhaled and murmured wearily, "I'll go and prepare my bag, then."

"Can't wait to rejoin your friends, can you? Well, pack your things and make sure you don't forget anything!" he snapped, wiping his cheek and sombrely considering the blood that had stained his fingers again. "Coming back here isn't an option. What you forget is lost."

Wordlessly, the girl went back to her room and began to organize her things. Streams of emotions lit inside her mind like bolts in a storm, growing more and more vivid while she piled her clothes on the decaying bed, checked the ugly wardrobe that seemed to look back desolately at her as if apologising for its bad aspect, inspected the drawers of the blasted desk - empty since the beginning of her stay except for the damned envelope in those last days – and finally turned to stare at the stupid shelf, where the silly romances had been patiently waiting to be read.

Those idiotic books! Her only comfort for so many hours! Days spent in apprehension while everything had been a fake! Wouldn't it have been a pleasure if she had been allowed to throw them all into the fireplace so that they could reach Voldemort, wherever he was?

_Let him read and be saved by the power of love,_ Hermione thought, darkly enjoying the idea of a small cascade of volumes landing directly on the Dark Lord's head…

Then her gaze suddenly noticed _that_ book, and her heart twisted again.

That one… That one was different. It was _his_ book, and she couldn't give up on that memory too… it had been so good, it had felt so good, so sweet, so comforting…

Feeling the tears prickle again but blinking them back ferociously, the girl sat on the bed and took the book in her hands. Slowly, she opened it, casting a distracted glance at the magnificent words that had comforted her so many times in those painful days. And slowly, as if animated by an inner life, the pages began to turn until they reached a precise point. Hermione frowned, remembering the bookmark he had inserted that night and feeling irritation rise again: as predicted, that thick wedge had left a demarcation, and now the pages would always open there_._

And suddenly, she remembered how insistently Severus had asked for that book in the last days: why had he been so engrossed? What had he found inside it? _What had he read_?

Curiosity defeated temper, and she bent over the volume. The page in front of her was glowing faintly at the light of the candles.

"Verses of Love and Joy" was the heading on its upper margins and, shining in glorious beauty, the title of the poem was written immediately below.

"_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…"_

From the mist of the time, the gentle voice of Elizabeth Barrett-Browning spoke to the agitated heart of the girl reading in a trance.

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of Being and ideal Grace._

_I love thee to the level of everyday's_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light._

_I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;_

_I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise._

_I love thee with a passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death._

The whole poem had been marked with a thin red line that had been reinforced two or three times in a nervous circle around the last verses.

But, much more astounding, two small red letters signed that touching declaration.

S.S.

_Severus Snape. _

…

Hermione frowned. That was strange. Unusual. Professor Snape wouldn't intentionally scribble on a book that wasn't his own property. So, what was the meaning of that? Was it a message or a wish… or perhaps the memory of a past love?

She felt a pang of jealousy at this possibility, and the words that Voldemort had addressed to Severus resounded in her mind.

_"You've always had a penchant for Muggle-born women…"_

With many confusing ideas floating in her mind and many confused emotions clashing in her heart, the girl rose from her bed. Holding carefully the book in her hands, she entered the living room with a soft, composed pace.

Snape was still standing there, but his eyes were now immensely sad. As soon as she appeared under the doorframe, he turned his head towards her, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Miss Granger," he began with a clearly apologetic tone. Then he stopped to watch her better, and his tone changed into an alarmed one. "Miss Granger! Is everything well with you?"

Slowly, she shook her head and raised the book, showing him the poem.

"I've just found this."

The man glanced at the page, and his eyes widened in something similar to panic. He had evidently forgotten after the ordeal he had undergone, and now he looked dumbstruck.

Hermione tilted her head. "What does this mean?"

Snape blushed, looking even more embarrassed; then, as always, he took shelter in his pride.

He cleared his throat. "Ah, nothing, just a… a mistake. I acted on impulse. I was going to rub it out before you noticed, but then that young idiot arrived, and... and there was no time to do anything anymore…"

"So, this is not a message?"

His lips twitched while Severus seemed to weigh a reply. Then he answered curtly, "No."

"No?" Hermione considered softly. "How sad…"

And she lowered the book with a sigh, staring blankly at the floor.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and she perceived the anxiety in his voice.

"I mean what I just said. '_How sad_'."

Hermione paused, and Severus took a step forward. She raised her head to look at him. "I had hoped…"

"You had hoped…" he repeated with a questioning intonation, taking another step and watching her with mesmerised eyes.

She returned his gaze. "Is it so difficult to understand?"

"You mean… would you possibly mean…" he breathed, unable to end his sentence.

"You should have guessed by now…" she whispered. He was close now, so dangerously close that she could count every hair on his eyebrows.

"Hermione," he murmured.

She brightened. "I'm glad you remember my name," she said, smiling and lifting her face towards him.

Slowly, gradually, as if dragged by an invisible hand, he bent forward until, finally, he kissed her.

"_And they both lived happily ever after."_

_?_

* * *

_Dear readers, this is the first of the two endings I announced 35 days ago in my Prologue (incredible how quick the time flew!). This is where the story 'could' stop: a "happily-ever-after" to the satisfaction of both the characters and some of the readers, and perhaps even the author. B__ut, as you can imagine, this is not the real ending. _Too many strings are still untied.  


_So, I am glad to renew my invitation: If you want to discover more and have the nerve to go on, then I encourage you to continue our journey… at your own risk! ;)  
_


	37. 36 –The Heart has its Reasons

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks as always to my readers and reviewers. Short chapter this time, but the next ones will compensate. :)_

**36 –The Heart has its Reasons which Reason Knows Nothing of**

**OR**

**The Reason has its Reasons which Heart Refuses to Accept.**

His lips were warm and inviting, but the kiss didn't last for long. Their noses bumped against each other almost immediately in that first sweet but awkward attempt, and Severus drew back with a soft gasp of pain.

Hermione brushed her curls with her hand, recomposing herself and her racing heartbeats.

"May I have your wand?" she then asked quietly.

"Why?" he replied, looking frustrated and wary.

"It's clear that your nose isn't helping. And I would like to kiss you in the proper way."

His eyes opened in surprise, then warmed in such a tender expression that the girl felt her heart liquefy. Wordlessly, he handed her his wand.

"_Epismendo_," Hermione said, aiming the tip at his face. Severus shivered under the effect of the spell while his swollen nose magically returned to its usual dimension. He touched it with an uncertain expression, ready to react at the first sign of pain.

"You still don't trust my medical skills, I see," she teased him with a mischievous smile. This time, his arms enfolded her in a tight embrace while he kissed her longingly again.

…

Eventually, exhaustion and emotion exacted their toll, and they both swayed under the stream of such intense sensations. So, Severus took her to the nearest chair and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. Hermione settled herself and snuggled her head contentedly into the crook of his neck. They relaxed in silence, savouring the many sensations filling their hearts, his arms firmly wrapped around her as if he didn't believe that she was there with him.

And those, in fact, were the first words he was able to utter.

"I... I still can't believe it," he murmured, resting his head on her bouncy hair. "How can you possibly like me?"

That was exactly was the girl was hoping: a request to describe her feelings, as her heart was exploding with them and asked for a release.

"How could I not? You have all the qualities I look for in a man."

And, before he could stop her, she began to enounce them. "You are brave, you are honest, you are loyal-"

Severus stiffened and abruptly released his hold. Surprised, Hermione looked at him. His lips curled into his usual cynical expression, and he spoke in his typical hard voice. "Those aren't exactly the words people use to describe me."

She gasped in anxiety and tried to speak, but he continued, averting his eyes. "Not even a Hufflepuff would say what you have just said. And you aren't a Hufflepuff…"

She felt a new kind of emotion mix with her feelings, a sort of irritation joined by discomfort and followed by sympathy. Stubborn, insufferable, adorable idiot, always repressing himself! Yet, how to blame him for his lack of trust, after a life spent in deception? And, much more important, how to convince him now? Maybe using his own weapons? She tightened her lips and tried to sound as sarcastic as he had sounded.

"I have spent a whole month in your company. Don't you think that, at this point, I would have a completely different list of adjectives at hand if I felt I needed them?

Severus looked at her again, and the girl detected doubt, confusion, alarm, even shame in his eyes. She felt a huge wave of tenderness at those unmistakable signals, and her voice softened, letting her feelings transpire with every word.

"And don't you think that, at this point, I know better than to just rely on deceptive, irrelevant, unjust considerations?"

"Not as unjust as you may think," he sombrely said, and his arms loosened from their embrace even more.

Ah! Hermione thought sadly, her attempt had revealed itself to be a double-edged weapon.

"That is something you have already told me. Perhaps now you'll let me ask more about it?" she enquired softly, nestling her head under his chin. Again, Severus stiffened.

"As I said, you have the right," he replied in a bitter tone.

She looked at his tense face with a pang in her heart. "But I won't, if this is going to pain you."

"I'm used to pain."

"But I'm not used to inflicting pain on people. And I don't intend to get used to it." Hermione kissed the rough skin of his cheek, murmuring, "Especially where _you_ are concerned".

Severus inhaled sharply, and she could feel the tension in his body. "Then please ask," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't want to keep secrets from you any longer." His voice dropped. "And I won't object if you should feel disgusted and… and reject me in the end."

"Never!" she exclaimed and tightened her embrace. His arms didn't return it, and she felt empty. And even more scared. What was happening? What was troubling him so much? The girl paused, trying to remember what he had told her just a few days before.

"You said you were bound to a secret that was not yours," she whispered, resting her head on his chest.

"There are no more secrets now that the Dark Lord has disappeared," Severus replied in the same soft tone, but with that bitter note so fearful to her.

"He might come back, Dumbledore said."

"I'm damned anyway."

The girl startled and raised two anxious eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "My life has been doomed since the beginning."

"Why? What did you do to bear such a fate?"

"I… I loved." He stared back at her with a painful, challenging look. "But, as the Dark Lord would say, love failed me."

His head lowered in surrender. "Or perhaps I should say that I failed love."

Hermione kissed him again. "Please tell me," she whispered, putting all her trust in those words. "I won't fail you. I promise."

His shoulders slumped and he began to speak.

…

Hermione listened in silence, and when she raised her head again, there were tears glittering in her eyes.

"His mother…" she murmured. "Harry's mother…"

His evident suffering was giving even more intensity to her feelings. Yet, strangely, her pain for the tragedy which had happened in the past was much less stinging than the jealousy biting her heart at seeing how much he still loved the girl of his youth.

But Severus saw only the tears, and his knuckles whitened. "I told you that you would be disgusted."

He tried to disentangle himself from her embrace, and she felt her heart panic. Impulsively, she hugged him even more tightly.

"Don't," she murmured, wishing she could be older and wiser to be able to find the magical words that would heal him forever. "Don't keep torturing yourself. You didn't know, you couldn't know. And you have paid your mistake with a whole life."

His eyes were blank, and his arms still unresponsive. "A whole life may not be enough…"

"Severus," she said, kissing him and feeling a delightful thrill as she called him by his given name. "It's time to let it go. It's time to be forgiven."

"Who's going to forgive me for what I've done?"

"I will!" she said passionately. "I will, because I love you and I want you to be happy."

…

_The author relaxed, crossing her arms and leaning back on her chair. Finally, things were proceeding well, very well. She gave an affectionate look at the couple__,__ who were plunging more and more animatedly into a discussion where myriad feelings were powerfully arising and exploding like fireworks. _

"_You are only a child," Severus was repeating, but the author could easily perceive the undertone in his voice. He was desperately hoping to be confuted, and in fact the girl was counteracting bravely, reddening in the effort. The matter was becoming too private to be reported by her quill, so she raised her eyes and stared at the ceiling with a contented sigh, letting only fragments of their dialogue reach her ears._

_But that happy state obviously lasted only for a few moments. _

"_You should believe me," Hermione was protesting heatedly (and the author nodded in agreement, still looking at the ceiling) when a loud knock at the door was heard._

_The author __frowned. Who could be interrupting her deserved joy in such a damned untimely manner? Unfortunately, she had a very vivid idea of the possible intruder. She cast__ a regretful glance at the couple. Severus was standing in the room, arms crossed and an obstinate look on his face. Hermione was pacing around him, exposing her reasoning as vehemently as she used to do with Harry and Ron. The author smiled fondly._

_The knock was repeated, louder and somewhat irritated. She snorted._

"_I'm coming!" she announced sharply to the door; then she__ walked to open it. She had to lift her eyes to welcome that tall, inopportune visitor._

"_Professor Dumbledore," she said politely, glaring at him. The great wizard glared back._

* * *

To **amr**: thank you very much for your many interesting considerations. I appreciate honest criticism, and I know that my story is far from being perfect. I'm however glad to see that you keep considering it "engrossing" in spite of its flaws. :)

I'm sorry that you are not a registered reader because I would have liked to chat directly with you. You seem to be a very intuitive person, and I'm sure that discussing with you would be a pleasure.

Now, you have been asking for answers. But... Don't you know that "The Obligatory Scene In Which All Questions Are Answered" is always in the last chapter? ;)

However, you are lucky. A lot of what you have asked will be answered in the next chapter, which is not the last. At the moment, I can only tell you about the sweater, because I'm not going to mention it anymore in what follows. Yes, Severus used _her_ sweater after Christmas, but he took it off when Lucius entered the cottage. And from that moment, he had no chance to put it on again.


	38. 37 – My Faults? Your Faults!

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks as always to my readers and reviewers. _

**37 – **_**My**_** Faults? **_**Your**_** Faults! **

They looked at each other in evident irritation.

"Well?" Dumbledore finally asked. "Are you going to keep me out here under the doorframe?"

The author's innate sense of hospitality, so deeply rooted in every Italian, awakened immediately, and with a slightly guilty expression, she invited him to come in. Dumbledore made his usual majestic entrance, but this time there was something gloomy in his attitude; something that gave his magnificent attire a less imposing effect. He cast a quick glance at the couple and instantly turned his head to her.

"I see they are still discussing," he said flatly.

"Uh-huh," the author replied, losing herself in the scene again.

'Discussing' was perhaps too mild a term. 'Shouting' or 'yelling' would render the idea much more accurately.

"_You are too stubborn to admit that I could be right, aren't you?!" Hermione was protesting right at that moment while Severus roared back, "I'm not going to discuss this with a girl!"_

"_No," Hermione counteracted, "because we girls are stupid, aren't we?"_

"_I didn't say that!" Severus exploded. "Stop misinterpreting my words!"_

"Children, children, impulsive and hot-blooded, always ready to quarrel," Dumbledore commented lightly; the hint of something that could be defined a smile only by a very attentive observer curled his lips and faded as quickly as it had appeared. "And furthermore in love… unreasonable, as all lovers are."

He turned to look at her. "But these are irrelevant considerations. As you surely have imagined, I am here to comply with my promise, in spite of the poor work you have done."

The author froze abruptly. Till that moment, she had been beaming in tenderness at the two lovers, who were irresistibly getting closer and closer in fatal attraction.

"What do you mean?" she asked, a bit more harshly than she intended.

"Come on, Madam," Dumbledore replied with a meaningful tone. "No need of pretending between us. You understood my words perfectly."

"I suppose you are irritated because I succeeded in making it a love story," she said, feeling her impatience increase and wishing she could find a (polite) way to shorten the unpleasant discussion.

Dumbledore snorted and crossed his arms. "That was the inevitable risk, and I don't question it. After all, I knew what might happen when I asked you— a sentimental, middle-aged woman!—to help me."

The author stiffened, but not because of his words. Severus had turned his back to Hermione, crossing his arms and curling his lips in his characteristic obstinate expression. Uh-oh, that didn't bode well…

With an effort—the scene was catalysing so compellingly!—the author raised her head to look at Dumbledore again, feeling even more irritated. Didn't he see that an entire month of patient planning could turn into ashes in a handful of seconds?

But no, the old wizard didn't seem concerned at all. Or perhaps he had forecast that miserable ending? Had she really spoiled her work? As if guessing those thoughts, Dumbledore frowned with his best professorial expression, and she involuntarily swallowed, backing a step. He smiled grimly and continued in a deadly timbre, "It's how you thwarted our deal that annoys me."

A pause. A threatening pause. "Deeply".

"I followed your instructions," she replied warily.

"NO, you didn't!" the old wizard burst out in fury. "You've pretended to follow them. And I'll show you your faults immediately. First of all, it took you a long time. An incredibly, exceedingly long time. I went to visit you four years ago. FOUR years, not just a day."

She scowled. "I am a busy woman," she retorted coldly. "I hope you didn't believe that I would devote my whole time to your request. I have a life, a family, and a job."

He scowled back. "You don't need to remark that you have a real life. I know it. It's the perpetual condemnation of us literary creatures. Being tools in the minds of our almighty creators, who have power and ambitions… but usually no mercy."

_Right at that moment, Hermione reached Severus and tugged his robes. The author couldn't hear her words but the girl seemed to beg him. And she had tears in her eyes. _

The author felt bad. That surely was due to Dumbledore's malevolent influence. Since the moment he had entered her house, Severus and Hermione had been quarrelling more and more harshly. She needed to put a stop to that annoying discussion with the old wizard or her plan would inexorably shipwreck. So she braced herself and crossed her arms.

"Professor, let's stop beating about the bush."

He returned her gaze with an offended air. "Very well. You asked for it. I am thoroughly indignant about the way you managed the plot."

"Interesting remark, since you were the one who decided the main lines. Isn't it a bit too late now for having second thoughts?"

"I am fed up with being the grey eminence. I had planned this story to help a friend, and I had asked you because you were still…"

"Naïve? Gullible? Credulous?" she asked with a cold smile.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed; then he immediately blushed. "NO! Wait, I didn't mean that. I meant that, when I asked you, you were not as involved in fandom as other authors were. Your vision was still pure. Your ideas were still uncontaminated…"

"I see. In a word, I could easily be fooled. So, why don't we examine my work a bit closer?"

As soon as she formulated her question, she couldn't resist anymore and cast a quick glance beyond her desk. Though it was obviously impossible, the lovers seemed to have frozen, waiting for her words; each one was looking silently at the other in what looked like dismay for Hermione, denial for Severus.

Dumbledore caught her glance and lifted his brows, smiling knowingly with his irritating, condescending air. "There is no need to waste more time. You clearly failed."

Suppressing a harsh reply, the author smiled coldly again. "Are you sure? Let's recap the events. First, you sent me a message with an owl that was so scared to come back that he decided to go and live in the pinewood near my home. A bit peculiar, don't you think?"

"Come on! That only proves that he had an owl's brain."

"Oh, but this is only the beginning," she warned him even more coldly. "Now let's see what followed. You arrived and told me that you needed help for Severus Snape. You wanted to lead him away from Hogwarts and protect him from the many impending dangers, and I had to choose a worthwhile reason for it."

"Yes! And what did you do? You told him that Miss Granger had a secret in her mind! Of the many possible reasons, you chose the silliest!"

"Well, still one reason's as good as another, as we say here. And incidentally, a trick that suited your scheme in the best possible way. You didn't even need to Obliviate Hermione, but only to Confund her! Furthermore, they both believed it till the end. But now, may I remind you instead the agreement you proposed?"

"There is no need for YOU to tell me. I remember it perfectly! I have been waiting for its fulfilment for four years!"

"Nevertheless, I would like to hear the details from you."

"As you like it. My memory has always been good, my dear lady. We made a very simple deal. I asked you to find a good reason to keep Severus far away from the front line because he needed protection. And knowing that you are so hopelessly sentimental, I asked you to let also Miss Granger be part of the plot, so that she could help him. That's all."

"No, Professor, please don't cheat. I too have a very good memory… As a matter of fact, I _am_ Lady Memory. You asked me to protect Professor Snape, and Hermione with him, and I agreed. But I also proposed a counteroffer: if I were able to make them change their feelings and fall in love in no more than thirty days, then their destinies would be entrusted to my hands, and I would be allowed to choose amongst three options for their future. That was the original deal. And you accepted it."

"That was only a secondary point! The real goal was keeping them safe with a good excuse. And again, you failed spectacularly with such a miserable invention!"

"Ah, but my invention is not what really annoys you, is it, Professor? Why don't you tell us the truth? Perhaps because you are an incorrigible liar?"

"This… this is outrageous!" the wizard exploded.

"No, please, let me explain. You said that your intention was saving Severus and offering him a new chance. But I have got the idea that you really wanted that chance for yourself."

"Are you out of your mind? What do you mean?" Dumbledore had reddened violently, but that seemed to be caused by embarrassment rather than anger.

"Come on, Professor," she smiled meaningfully at his uneasiness. "You said that you wanted to create a diversion for Voldemort. You wanted him to focus his attention on the little cottage in the north. You wanted him to lose time and efforts to locate that place. Do you really think that that was the right way to protect and help Severus?"

"I forbid you to go on with this critique of my intentions! This is an absolutely arbitrary judgement that I can't—"

"I don't expect you to admit it, of course!" she cut him off brusquely. "But let's consider the evidence. The house was not locked properly. The charms were there to call in the enemy, not to repel him. You forbade Severus to bring food from Hogwarts with the excuse that it could be traceable, thus obliging him to expose himself even more by visiting a Muggle supermarket everyday. You made Severus walk in the snow for long stretches, inadequately dressed and in the most terrible weather. And finally, you even opened a connection in the Floo, but you didn't reveal it, thus forcing Hermione to leave the cottage and risk her life and Severus' in the attempt of finding medicines for him."

She stared at him piercingly. "What would you call that?"

"The cottage was supposed to be a trap!" Dumbledore reacted immediately.

"Then why did you say that you wanted to protect them both if the goal was to lure Voldemort there? Don't you see all the contradictions? It drove me crazy trying to circumvent such a poorly planned scheme. But you are too cunning to botch a plot in such an incompetent way. So, you must have had a reason."

"Ah, but that's ridiculous! And then, what about you and your pretended good intentions? You even made him catch pneumonia!"

"And that was the best gift I could ever offer him, as it allowed them to finally escape from the dead end you had put them in. Come on, Professor, you knew very well that a committed man like Severus would do his best to protect and safeguard the girl with whom he had been entrusted, even from himself... even from his love. That's why you granted those wishes to me. Because you were sure that the conclusion I was hoping for would never happen. So, don't deny it, Professor, you cheated from the beginning."

"Me? YOU wrote the story!"

"As I said, I followed your indications…"

"Oh no, you changed them according to your whim!" The old wizard declared in anger.

"Only at the last moment," the author unexpectedly admitted. "You wanted to destroy Voldemort, and we know that it's impossible. Only Harry has the power to perform that mission."

"Other authors have succeeded in that task, authors who are much more creative than you!"

"Yes, yes… so, why didn't you ask them?"

"I told you. Because I wanted a fresh start, a fresh vision…" Dumbledore paused, looking suddenly at a loss for words.

The author shook her head. "Please!" she exclaimed disdainfully. "Just once in your life, be honest and admit that you hoped I wouldn't understand. Be sincere and confess that you expected I would follow your plan and eliminate your enemy and release you from remorse and perhaps even allow you to use the Deathly Hallows."

Dumbledore staggered back and sat, or rather, dropped himself onto a chair.

"And why not?" he replied with a disconcertingly pleading tone. "What was wrong with that idea? Everybody would have been pleased with that solution. It would have been a really happy ending!"

"So, you admit you lied to me!"

"Well, what did you expect from me?" he burst out in his misery. "I have been created to suit that part! Remember what I told you about merciless authors? Why didn't dear Jo choose a man with higher moral principles for her books? Because she needed a ruthless gambler to do the dirty job!"

"Then I suppose that even the tears you shed when you met Harry after his believed death were a fake."

"Oh no, I was sincere. That was the only moment in which lovely Jo loosened her grip…"

Dumbledore's face had wrinkled more and more during that heated conversation. Now he lowered his head and a tear fell on the ground. Very effectively done, the author thought, and she couldn't but admire his sense of drama and perfect timing.

A long moment passed. Then, the old wizard raised his head and whispered, "Please be merciful… I'm not bad. I'm just written that way."

His eyes met her frowning face; he opened his arms.

"Don't you see? I have been trapped in a scheme, and I can't elude it, even with my best intentions."

He sighed and continued tiredly. "I had hoped that you could break this circle, but when I saw Harry and Ron arrive the cottage, I realised that there was no escape. Did you alert them?"

"Yes, I admit that I sent Harry a message when I discovered that you had opened a connection in the fireplace. It was the only reasonable thing to do. I couldn't let you try to destroy Voldemort by yourself. The prophecy would have backfired on you."

Dumbledore crossed his arms with a challenging look and spoke with the bitter tone that usually means surrender and sincerity finally coming out.

"Well, so why didn't you let it happen? The right punishment. Finally a way to get rid of the evil puppeteer and enjoy a nice revenge. Just imagine how many of your readers would exult at such a pleasurable ending!"

The author bit her lip. A timid, embarrassed smile slowly formed on her face.

"Ah, er, that exactly the reason. You see, in spite of my accusations, I simply couldn't accept the idea."

The old wizard raised his eyes and stared at her with an incredulous expression. She shrugged with an apologetic air.

"Well, let's say that I… I care for you. As you remarked, I suppose I'm hopelessly sentimental."

Dumbledore slowly got up to his feet, still looking at the author in amazement.

"Merlin's beard," he finally exhaled. "This is really… really…"

His lips trembled, his eyes closed shut for a moment, then he bent to take her hand and kiss it. She blushed intensely.

"That wasn't a declaration of love!" she protested, and reddened even more.

"I know it," he replied. Then, he smiled sadly. "But you are the first one to use such kind words to me, especially after the last book. Thank you very much.".

_Hermione seemed to have lost her hopes. After a long and tearful tirade, which the author had followed out with the corner of her eye, the girl had buried her face in her hands and now was crying desolately, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The author stiffened, but after a moment of hesitation, Severus advanced impetuously and enfolded Hermione in his arms. They kissed and kissed and kissed again, as if they could never stop._

Dumbledore was stunned. "I didn't imagine that Severus could be so… so…" and he shook his head, unable to complete his sentence.

The author beamed, letting out a happy sigh.

...

The lady and the wizard stared at each other in silence. Then he cleared his throat.

"Now, perhaps you would like to receive your prize?" he proposed.

"I'd be happy, yes," she replied.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She felt suddenly very uneasy. But then the excitement prevailed.

"I am ready. Please tell me what to do."

He smiled. "Oh, this time it's easy. Just give me your hand."

As soon as her fingers clasped his, the house disappeared in a blur.

* * *

_Needless to say, the author cheated as much as Dumbledore, and for his same reason: the Greater Good (of Severus and Hermione, of course). _

_But, thankfully, Albus was too upset to realise it. ;)  
_


	39. 38 – Time to say goodbye

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Many thanks to my readers and reviewers.  
_

**38 – Time to say goodbye**

The sky was grey and cloudy, and the land through which they were walking looked spectrally pale. The author shivered, sinking for the tenth time into a particularly insidious bunch of snow she hadn't noticed. She moaned in despair, rubbed her hands in a hopeless attempt to warm her frozen fingers and looked around, whispering with a hint of anguish, "Just how far is that damn cottage?"

Dumbledore inclined his head at his short companion. "As far as needed," he replied noncommittally.

She shivered again and said acidly, "I should have taken my winter coat! At least a jacket! And I would, if you had advised me that we would have to walk for such a long stretch. But of course, you didn't say a word!"

Dumbledore smiled mildly. "You didn't give me time to warn you."

She snorted. "I suppose this is your idea of revenge, isn't it? Well, congratulations. I'm freezing!"

"It wasn't my intention," the old wizard replied with irritating cheerfulness.

She raised her eyes at him (at least quarrelling was giving her some warmth) and exclaimed, "Ah yes, all the excuses are good for you! But just wait till we get back… just wait and—"

Once more, a shiver shook her abruptly, and her teeth chattered uncontrollably, interrupting her speech.

Dumbledore stopped and frowned, then he aimed his wand at the author with a quick circular movement. She stiffened in panic, but a powerful puff of warm air suddenly enfolded her body like a diving suit.

"Wow!" she said and shot an impressed glance at her companion. Then darkened again. "Why didn't you do it sooner?"

"I'm sorry, dear Madam," Dumbledore replied, "I'm used to our cruel Scottish winters, and here the temperature is very acceptable."

She glared, but didn't retort; it was useless, and she was too tired to discuss it with her elusive companion. So they kept walking at a speedy pace until the moon broke its prison of clouds and smiled benignly, illuminating the land with its mild rays.

In that unexpected luminosity, the cottage suddenly appeared in the distance, looking finally real and reachable. A sigh of relief escaped the author's lips. "_Grazie al cielo_! (Thank Heaven). It's there! I thought we'd never find it!"

To be true, during her painful walk she had also thought of the many times Severus had walked back and forth in that hoary hell, but she didn't voice her considerations. She was too excited to start a fight. Dumbledore, however, seemed to have guessed her thoughts because he lowered his head in silence.

...

In a few moments, they reached the fence surrounding the cottage. The author felt her heartbeats start racing.

"Why couldn't we simply Apparate?" she panted, trying to control her emotion as they climbed the steps and stopped under the porch.

"These are the rules," Dumbledore replied gravely. "You are real, so you cannot enter a house located in a book unless they let you in. But I'm pleased to see that you have already met one of the requirements needed to stay in this world."

And he looked at her meaningfully.

Surprised, she glanced at herself and saw that her body had become two-dimensional. She was shocked for a moment, then she smiled. Well, at last there was something good in that transition, she thought, and rubbed a hand on her prodigiously thinned belly.

"Gee, I wish my husband could see me now," she exclaimed, beaming at the idea of her slim figure.

"Ah yes, I'm sure he would appreciate such attractive flatness," Dumbledore replied imperturbably. She startled, blushed and mumbled something unintelligible, scratching her nose to hide her embarrassment.

The old wizard smiled and knocked at the door. The quietness behind the thick wooden panel was immediately broken by a muffled explosion of voices talking and wondering in surprise and even alarm.

The author felt extremely excited. Finally! Finally! FINALLY! It had taken her four long years of scribbling and sweating, but finally she would be allowed to meet Severus and Hermione in person! What an incredible reward! She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

From inside, Severus asked cautiously, "Who's there?"

She staggered at that unmistakable voice, flushing vividly.

"Albus Dumbledore… and a friend," Dumbledore replied and smiled again, evidently enjoying the author's emotion. But those inside the cottage didn't seem to appreciate that announcement.

"Professor Dumbledore!" They heard Hermione exclaim in surprise. Then her voice changed into a somewhat worried whisper evidently addressed to her companion. "But shouldn't he … why did he…?"

The author hoped they hadn't interrupted anything. However, the door opened immediately after, and two surprised faces peeked out. The author relaxed and looked at their owners in ecstatic joy, savouring every detail of that incredible scene.

Hermione was the bright, lively young woman she had always imagined. Her hair was a bit disorderly, her hazelnut eyes were widened exactly as those of her unexpected guest, and her cheeks were still reddened by her recent discussion. And effusions, the author smiled inwardly.

Severus… well, Severus was the real surprise. Tall, thin and dark, as she had expected him to be. But his face was very… very peculiar. It didn't resemble any of the actors that had been discussed by her fandom friends as possible interpreters during the years. And yet, he had something of each one of them. But, much more important, he looked young—young and disconcertingly energetic.

"Albus?" he asked, and again his voice sounded low and rich. The author shivered and smiled hazily at the couple.

Severus frowned. "Why are you back, Albus?" he questioned suspiciously, crossing his arms and blocking the door with his body.

"Oh, I am here on a very special mission…" Dumbledore mildly replied. "An amazing one, if I may say. May I introduce my guest?"

"Oh, ah, certainly, but still…" Severus looked at the author's inadequate clothes and arched an eyebrow.

"Happy to meet you," the author intervened, stammering in emotion and regressing to the very first English sentences she had learned when a child in school. Good heaven, her brain seemed to have been zeroed!

"Happy to meet you," Hermione intervened, casting a reproaching glance at Severus. "I suppose you are foreign? Your accent sounds Italian," she considered with polite curiosity. She was obviously trying to know more without giving the idea of being nosy. "A couple of friends of my parents are Italians. Nice people."

Still paralysed by emotion, the author nodded, struggling to recompose her thoughts. Severus tilted his head, refusing to leave the door and his cautious attitude. "I don't know why, but I perceive something dangerous in this visit."

"Oh please don't!" Alarmed, the author unexpectedly found her voice again and made a mess of what she hoped would sound like reassuring statements. "If I could please enter, I would explain you the reason of my coming…"

"You are welcome," Hermione hastened to say, stepping aside to let the woman in. The author thought that probably the girl had remembered the night in which she had kept Severus out in the cold… because her cheeks had reddened even more.

"Sorry for keeping you out," Hermione in fact apologised. "Please excuse our wariness, but we have just survived a… well…" She looked helplessly at Dumbledore. And once more, Severus broke in.

"What did you say your name was?" he inquired with an ominous tone, once again blocking the passage.

It was Albus who replied, and this time he sounded irritated. "She didn't say it, of course, and she won't till she is here."

He raised a hand, preventing their questions. "The lady is not a member of the magical world, but… but for a twist of fate, she has been allowed to join us for a while. She is here to offer you a gift."

"Not only one," the author timidly interposed. "Three." And raised three fingers like a child.

Hermione and Severus looked at each other, then stared worriedly at Dumbledore.

The author sighed. It was more difficult than she had imagined. She hadn't supposed that they could doubt her. And yet, why not? After all, as Hermione had remarked, they had just survived a month full of tension and a day packed by the most awful surprises… Why should they welcome another surprise with open arms?

"Hermione," she said with her most earnest voice, "Please listen: You don't know me, but I know you very well. I have been following your recent adventures in this house. Let's say that Professor Dumbledore asked me to perform an enchantment that helped you in your fight against Voldemort."

At that statement, Severus widened his eyes. "Who! Are! You!?" he asked through gritted teeth and advanced a step, as if protecting Hermione.

"Severus!" Dumbledore began sternly, but the author silenced him.

"Please," she begged. "I know you too, Sev-, I mean, Professor Snape. And though you don't know me, you and Hermione are very dear to my heart, and this is why I accepted Albus' request to help you."

Dumbledore grimaced, surely thinking of their previous discussion, but Severus only noticed his expression and immediately reacted by extracting his wand and aiming its tip at the two intruders with an amazingly quick move.

"_Cave Inimicum! Homenum Revelio!" _he hissed fiercely.

The author gasped. The man before her had unexpectedly changed into something wild, and his face looked altered by a savage emotion. Deeply scared, she closed her eyes, feeling her hair stand up in fear while the power of the spells made the air vibrate around her with the strength of a lightening in a storm.

But nothing happened, so the author opened her eyes and asked tremblingly, "E-everything OK now?"

She was still shaking visibly, and Dumbledore finally intervened.

"Ah, come now, Severus! There is no danger! You have terrified this dear lady senselessly." (Though, in spite of his kind words, the author could see his lips twitch in the effort of controlling his amusement…)

Amazingly, for once Severus seemed unable to find something to counteract; so, with a ceremonious bow, the old wizard took the lady's hand and they entered the cottage. The old living room and its decadent furniture opened before her eyes exactly as she had imagined them. She inhaled deeply in emotion. But Dumbledore seemed to notice only the dancing flames of the fireplace and nodded in approval.

"Ah, great! Nothing better than a good fire in a winter night! Now, why don't we sit and talk like the friends we are?

With a flicker of his wand, the wizard changed two of the rigid wooden chairs into soft-cushioned armchairs while the original dusty armchair became a large and comfortable sofa positioned right in front of them.

"Please, Madam." He waved at one of the armchairs, then he gestured to the couple, indicating the sofa. "Miss Granger, would you please sit there? And Severus, I want you near Miss Granger. Or should I say Hermione?"

Confused, the man and the girl sat stiffly, waiting in silence. Dumbledore rubbed his hands, then slumped himself in the other armchair with evident satisfaction.

"Oh, this is good," he breathed. "Now, drinks!" he commanded, and a tray with the most disparate beverages appeared and rested itself on a newly created tea table decorated by horrendously old-fashioned lace. The wizard turned to the author.

"Would you like a drink, Madam, something hot to restore you after such a long walk?"

Looking evidently tense, Hermione and the author exchanged a timid glance then chose a hot chocolate, followed by Dumbledore who chose a hot tea and by Severus, who chose nothing but looked resentfully at everyone and everything in the room.

With irritating calmness, the old wizard sipped his tea and wiped his moustaches and beard. Then he smiled cheerfully at the couple.

"Now, my dear children, I suppose you have something important to tell me."

The girl and the man startled.

"Merlin's pants!" Severus exploded. "As always**,** you seem to know everything in advance, Albus, but I'll be damned if I am the one who speaks first."

With much more grace and a lovely redness on her cheeks, Hermione said softly, "Professor, I have… we have just discovered…"

"That you are in love," Dumbledore completed with a beaming smile. The author thought that he looked disgustingly like the caricature of an affectionate grandparent and felt the sudden desire to kick him. So she cast him a severe glance and put her drink on the armrest, which immediately enlarged to welcome it. She watched that change in fascination, then she shook her head and exclaimed, "No, Professor, this is destabilising. You cannot play with their feelings in this way."

Dumbledore pouted. "I was only thinking to propose a toast," he said grumpily, crossing his arms. "Can't I?"

"NO, you can't!" the author practically shouted, and the couple looked at her in complete bafflement. She recomposed herself.

"Dear friends," she began, letting the tenderness in her heart overflow with every word. "This is a very special moment. Though I don't belong to this world, I have been conceded the magical power to grant you a wish."

The couple looked even more baffled. The author sighed. How to explain to them that, as a consequence of her deal, they had been changed and were now completely separated from their previous selves?

She sighed again. "It's a long and complicated explanation, I know," she admitted desolately. "So let's go straight to the point. The premise was this: if, during this month, your feelings had changed into… well, you know what it is, as you are experiencing it right now…"

She paused and looked at them with deep sympathy. Hermione blushed, Severus stiffened. The author opened her hands and continued softly.

"So, as I was saying, if your feelings had changed, then I would be allowed to give you a gift. A magical one. Something that might change your life forever."

"What do you mean?" they asked at unison.

She stared at them. "I am here to offer you your future."

* * *

_Dear readers, as I had imagined, many of you didn't expect this last turn of the events, and probably now feel disappointed or even betrayed. This is why I was suggesting the less 'daring' of you to stop at the first ending: though incomplete, it was the traditional rewarding "and they lived happily forever". _

_But Marriage was created with the second end in mind, so I must complete it the way it was conceived. _

_Again, apologies to those who are - comprehensibly - irritated with me. My other stories usually follow a very identifiable (and highly emotional) pattern till the end: Marriage is the only exception. This time, the Muse evidently decided to honour me with something completely different for a change.  
_

_There is only one chapter left, and it will be a very big one. So, see you soon, if you are going to continue reading. If instead you are leaving, thank you very much again for following the story till here. I have been very happy to travel with you in this kingdom of fantasy. _


	40. 39 – Three Wishes, One Ending

**30 DAYS, A MARRIAGE**

_by Lady Memory_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein._

_Here we are. The final chapter. _

_The Obligatory Scene In Which All Questions Are Answered... hopefully ;)  
_

_Thank you very much again to my readers and reviewers._

**39 – Three Wishes, One Ending**

The author smiled again at the couple. They were both adorable. Hermione had instinctively leaned against Severus, and he had put his arm protectively around her waist. Now they were looking at the author with the same compelled faces. She felt an immense tenderness and hoped that they could perceive it too.

"Every story can have many different endings, but yours has been shaped by a magical deal; I have been asked to change the course of your existences, altering them deeply to save you from a danger."

They were listening attentively, and she tried to be as clear as possible… yet an unpleasant sensation was slowly but forcefully wriggling its way in her heart. What she was telling wasn't exactly the truth… She could feel Dumbledore shifting uncomfortably at her side, afraid of her revelations. But he had nothing to fear, the author bitterly thought, as she was in an even worse position than him: painful as it was to admit it, she had suddenly realised that she couldn't disclose the bare facts, because… because…

Her mind focused again on the past.

When Dumbledore had met her four years before, she had selfishly put to him a condition to fulfil her task: the possibility of choosing an ending, the freedom to play with the lives of the creatures sitting in front of her, an option that she had asked to be conceded as a personal reward. Now, looking at the couple, she realised the foolishness of her clause and she regretted it deeply. But she couldn't abrogate a magical contract… So, she sighed and continued.

"I have been chosen by magic to grant you three possible options. Once you have made your decision, I will be left the humble Muggle I was before and I'll return home.

Her heart tightened. What right did she have to force them to follow a predetermined path? How could she have been so egocentric as to think that HER choices would be the best for them? She swallowed, and her gaze met Dumbledore's. He had understood the tempest in her spirit, and his bitter smile seemed to tell her,_ "Don't you see? You accused me, but you aren't any better. You have arrogated to yourself the right to decide about their existences."_

She lowered her head, unable to endure that gaze, then blinked in anguish and hesitantly asked, "The question is: do you trust me?"

She paused. She couldn't say anything anymore. She hadn't the nerve to keep telling lies…

"Severus?" Hermione asked softly and raised her face to him with such a trustful expression that the author felt her heart liquefy. "What do you think?"

Severus frowned. "It's strange. Weird and unheard of. Yet I suppose we must accept it. The lady did her best to save us, and we must honour her deal if we want to have a chance."

He looked piercingly at the author. "I am used to magical bonds," he considered harshly. "At least, this one seems to let me the possibility of choosing an option."

"I don't know…" Hermione went on timidly. "What if we shouldn't like what we are offered? Knowing our future in advance… I always thought that it would be a surprise, and that we would build it together day after day… "

He frowned and gently dragged her close to him. "Afraid?" he murmured and kissed her on her soft curls.

She smiled and blushed slightly. "No. Not if I am with you."

He tightened his embrace. She clasped his hand and turned to watch the author. "We are ready, Madam."

The author felt definitely lost. "Professor, may I have your help?"

Wordlessly, Dumbledore offered her a jewel box. In mesmerised silence, she opened it, and a vivid light brightened the room. A luminescent globe slowly raised itself with a lazy movement. It floated gracefully in the air and began to rotate gently around the man and the girl, wrapping them in glittering spirals that dissolved into a myriad of sparks. Then the globe presented itself to the author.

"Inside this sphere there is your destiny," the author whispered, acknowledging the prodigy that was happening before her eyes and yet feeling strangely apathetic. "The magical globe has gathered your wishes, your hopes and your fears. Now it's ready to show you your possible futures."

With a blinding flash, the globe divided itself into three wands.

"There is only one destiny, but it can take different forms. To you the final decision," the author whispered.

One of the wands glowed faintly. She inhaled deeply and took it.

"The first one," she said.

...

_Hermione went onto the balcony and scrutinised the sky. Her home was on the top of a hill, and she used to spend part of her free time watching the beautiful panorama offered by the valley just below her windows. But today she was looking for something different… and finally, she saw it. A small indistinct object was floating far and high under in the clouds, and she let out a soft cry. _

Here it comes_, she thought, feeling excitement and anxiety mix in her heart. A few minutes later, with an elegant glide, an owl landed on her arm and offered her the rolled parchment attached to his claw. She took it, put it in her pocket and gently patted the little creature that left with a disdainful hoot. Immediately after, a second owl arrived. This time, Hermione hurried to take the parchment and send the messenger away as soon as possible. _

_She ran into her room and opened the second message, glancing anxiously at the round letters written by the hand of a child. She smiled during her reading, then sighed and hid the document carefully in her drawer. The she hastened to reach the dining room. Severus had just got up, leaving on the table behind him the usual mess of parchments, notes, letters and assorted items he used to consult during his breakfasts. _

He had never learned to simply eat and relax_, she thought with a smile._

"_Well?" he asked with a hint of anxiety, looking at her face. _

"_The owl has just arrived," she said, and offered him the first parchment, still sealed._

_He took it with a slightly trembling hand. He opened it and began to read in silence. But his eyes widened almost immediately, and he beamed in joy. "Slytherin! Finally a Slytherin in the family!"_

_He handed her the message with an immense grin. "Look at this!" he nearly shouted. Duly, his wife read the message._

"Dear Dad and Mummy, I'm happy to tell you that I have been sorted into Slytherin…"

_Hermione smiled fondly. Severus looked prodigiously excited._

"_See? She did it! A Slytherin like her Dad! Ah, the occasion deserves a celebration," he exclaimed, pacing in the room and raking his hair with a movement that weirdly remembered Harry Potter. "Finally! I knew that my girl wouldn't disappoint me!"_

_Hermione nodded, amused at his joy, while phrases of the second parchment she had so carefully concealed in her drawer flashed in her mind._

"Dear Mummy, I know you won't be happy… but the Sorting Hat said that I was even more Gryffindor than my brothers, and I thought that Dad would be so disappointed! I couldn't fail him. I know how much he hoped in my sorting. So I ordered the Hat to shut up and to put me in Slytherin. After all, Uncle Harry said that he should have been sorted into Slytherin too**,** but then he changed the decision and things didn't go that bad…

And the other fellows acclaimed, and Professor McGonagall said Finally a Snape in Slytherin again, and she looked like she was crying…"

_In the meantime, Severus was announcing the world his happiness, scribbling a note furiously and rolling the parchment to prepare it for a delivery via owl. _

"_My child! My little girl! I will send this to St. Mungo's immediately. Let Higgins and Clarke have all the damn brewing this morning. Today I want to celebrate with my wife!"_

"_Of course, dear," Hermione said with perhaps too much haste. "I too am so happy for our daughter!"_

_He glanced at her. "You are hiding something from me!" he declared and frowned, crossing his arms. Hermione sighed. He had always had the power to see through her… that's why she always kept many different subjects at hand to discuss with him, so as to distract him from investigating in detail the matters that she wanted to keep private. _

"_Ahem," she cleared her throat. "There is a little problem with Salazar. He says that he wants…"_

"_He _wants_?!" Severus repeated with that meaningful intonation that had scared thousands of students._

"_He would like," his wife immediately corrected herself. "He would like to join the Harpooning Bumblebees as… as a Catcher. He says that _your_ permission is _his_ condition to honourably pass the NEWT. Otherwise… otherwise he will honourably fail."_

"_Damn! If I didn't know that the boy is mine, I'd think we had exchanged him with a son of Potter! What about the other two rascals?" _

"_Oh, the boys have been behaving till now… but after all, the term just started yesterday. They haven't had the time to play tricks… yet."_

_Severus shook his head in disconcertment. "Three kids!" he breathed. "Three kids and none of them resembles you or me! Where the heck did they come from?"_

_He paced nervously. "Thankfully we have the girl. My little one!" He beamed again. "I'm sure she will be a wonderful student. I have personally prepared her, so I'm sure that…"_

_Again, Hermione lost herself in memories. A tiny voice was saying pleadingly, "But Da-ad, I want to go out and play with my friends. It's summer, Dad! Everybody's on holiday! Why should I stay buried in your studio and learn all these boring things? Next year they'll teach me everything in school!"_

_At that point, Hermione awakened and noticed that her husband was looking unexpectedly depressed. She put a hand oh his hand and asked softly, "Are you feeling well?"_

"_You know," Severus said uncertainly. "I think that we will feel a bit lonely now that the little one has also left."_

_Hermione smiled. "Oh, but there's more news I was keeping for the right occasion. Yesterday I went to St. Mungo's, and not only to visit you…"_

_He stared at her and his mouth opened and his eyes widened._

"_Yes," she said. "We will have company in a few months. I am expecting."_

_She smiled again. "Twins," she announced proudly. "You'll see, you won't have time to be bored."_

_..._

The vision flashed and disappeared. The author raised her head to look at the couple. They both looked… baffled.

"Four children!" Severus breathed, then looked at Hermione with a mix of pride and anguish. "And two more arriving…"

"Salazar…" the girl considered instead. "Who chose such a name? I imagine it was your idea."

Severus tilted his head and asked with a bit of apprehension, "Did you like our house? It was very large and wonderfully decorated…"

"Yes, perhaps too large. It seems that you were working in St. Mungo's…" Hermione replied absent-mindedly. "I wonder why you left Hogwarts and your position there."

"I suppose they offered me a better income!" he said sharply. "Raising four children requires a lot of money."

The author was following their debate with an anxious expression.

"Did you like the vision?" she asked, feeling her heart slowly break into a thousand pieces. What a stereotypical ending! And they had been waiting for four long years for… THIS? She had sold them to the devil for such a sugary conventional solution?

The girl and the man watched her and she could guess their answer even before they opened their mouths.

"No," Hermione whispered, and Severus shook his head to express his support.

"Ah, perfect!" the author exhaled, feeling the bars of a cage closing around her. The first attempt had failed. What if the second did also…

She closed her mind to that possibility and took the second wand that was glowing faintly in the air. Dumbledore sighed and rested his chin on his fist with a desolated expression.

"The second one," he murmured.

...

_Three children of assorted ages (but all under ten years) gathered in front of the heavy dark door of an apartment inside a tall building. They were panting in excitement, but none of them seemed determined or brave enough to knock at the door or ring the doorbell. Finally, the eldest squared his shoulders and called loudly, "Are you in, Auntie?"_

_A few moments of waiting, then a sound of hurried steps approached, and the door opened abruptly, revealing an adult Hermione. But, though an older copy of the girl in the cottage, the woman in the vision looked _different, _dissimilar in a strange sort of way… and, after a moment, the author realised what the difference was: she was dressed like a Muggle. _

_In the meantime, the Hermione in the vision was smiling at the children._

"_Charlie, Mickey, Will! What a pleasure! Did you come to visit? Where is your mum? How is she?"_

"_She's coming," said Charlie, the oldest. And Mickey added proudly, "She is bringing our new sister to you."_

"_Sister?" Hermione widened her eyes. "So, your sister has arrived? I'm so happy! What fantastic news!"_

"_Thank you, Hermione!" a kind voice replied from the stairs. Moving very cautiously, a woman climbed the steps and reached the children, holding a soft pink bundle in her arms. The baby was sleeping with that astoundingly serene face that only kids (and saints) present to the world. Hermione seemed to instantly melt._

"_Oh, Cathie, how beautiful she is!" she murmured. Something intense and sweeter than admiration, sparkled in her eyes as she bent to look at the little one, something that revealed a feeling carefully kept under control. _

"_Yes," the woman replied tenderly, rocking the baby. "And I have to thank your husband if everything went well. The medicine he prepared for me worked perfectly. It's to his credit that I could bring my pregnancy to an end."_

_With an immense smile, Hermione invited the group into the house, where the two older kids, evidently at ease, scattered. Only the youngest stopped and looked around with palpable nervousness. "Unc Sevrus?" he asked. _

"_He hasn't arrived yet, Will," Hermione reassured him, and the child relaxed, joining his brothers in the exploration._

"_Well, you will thank him for me, then," Cathie said with a friendly smile, giving the baby to Hermione, who was clearly longing to hold her, and continued with the frankness derived from a long familiarity. "You know, perhaps he isn't the pleasantest of men, but he is a good, kind-hearted one in spite of his harsh ways. I had even thought to give his name to the baby… though my husband doesn't like it, he finds it too unusual. But in the end, it is a girl after three sons, and my hubby is very happy, so he came out with an interesting idea. We decided to give her your name. We like you and we like your name, so it will be a wonderful way to thank you both for your help."_

_Hermione smiled again, but her smile had something sad inside. "That's really lovely, Cathie. Thank you."_

_The woman seemed to perceive her mood. "Oh dear, no need for thanks. I'm sincere; I don't know what I would do if I hadn't you to help me with the kids."_

_Hermione smiled even more sadly. "No problem at all. I only have my work to keep me company when Severus is not here… and I would feel very alone without your children. So I'm the one who should be grateful."_

_Cathie nodded, then bit her lip and continued with an embarrassed expression, "Well, I was just thinking about the whole thing yesterday, so I told Jack, "why don't we ask our friends if they would agree to be the godparents of our little Hermione?"_

_She bent to adjust the blanket around the baby, thus hiding her expression. "Because you have to agree, of course. You see, it would be a bit like becoming relatives. Sharing parental guidance with somebody else and so on. The joys and the worries, you know." She laughed, but her eyes now stared attentively at the other woman._

_Lost in contemplation of the baby in her arms, the older Hermione didn't notice that acute, compassionate look and brightened. "How kind of you! Of course, we would be pleased. What a great idea! Thank you very much! And now, what can I offer you? I'm sure that the boys would enjoy a little snack. Sit here with me for a while, dear, and talk to me: I want to know everything about my little goddaughter." _

_An hour later, the children happily exhausted and their mother happily relaxed, Hermione bade them goodbye affectionately and was rewarded by the damp kisses of the boys and by a warm embrace from her friend. As soon as the sound of their steps faded in the distance, she closed the door and went to gently open another door in her house._

_It was Severus' studio. She entered silently and watched her husband. Severus was sitting at his desk, and his eyes were mutely contemplating a long, thin, polished, wooden rod placed on the top of his papers. His wand. _

_Hermione felt a pang in her heart. She advanced and enfolded her husband in her arms, putting her head on his shoulder._

"_How was your day?" she whispered. "Are you tired?"_

"_I'm well," he replied rather nervously. She knew that he hated to be interrupted when he was lost in his memories. "Very few people at the pharmacy today. I didn't want to meet the little monsters," he concluded rather incongruously, but Hermione understood perfectly. He didn't like Cathie's noisy kids, but he didn't want to displease his wife, who adored children but hadn't any of her own… so, he used to retreat in that impenetrable shelter every time they entered his house._

_She smiled, hoping to cheer him up a little. "Cathie came to thank you. She had the baby, the most beautiful baby girl I ever saw."_

_A pause, letting her comment the time to sink. Then she continued, "She asked me if we would like to be her godparents. The baby's, I mean. They want to call her Hermione." _

"_And?" he asked quietly, though she knew that he had already guessed her answer._

"_I said 'gladly'," she whispered in his hair, tightening her embrace. He sighed. She kissed him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again and again until he finally returned her kisses. Then he rested his cheek on the hand that she had placed on his shoulder. She kissed his temple. She knew what he was feeling and why._

"_Still sad?" she asked softly._

"_No," he breathed. Then, "Yes," he corrected himself. _

"_I miss this," he said for the millionth time since they had married; he lifted his wand, and she could feel the longing in his voice._

"_I'm sorry," she replied for the millionth time too. _

"_Don't be sorry," he said gravely. "I knew that after the events in the cottage we would be forced to leave the magical world. We had changed our identities and there was no more room for us there. We were lucky that we both had Muggle origins. And I was even luckier to find work that suits me and that I know how to handle well. Extremely well."_

_A feeble spark of pride. "Old Parkinson says that I am the most incredible potion-maker he has ever employed. The funny thing is that he thinks he has invented that definition." Bitterly. "If he only knew how close he is to the truth…"_

"_Severus," she pleaded, and he turned to watch her, then pulled her on his lap. _

"_No, don't say a word," he whispered kissing her hair. "I am selfish. You too have had your worries. No babies, and you would have liked them so much… But again, changing our state didn't allow us to have even one… We are two rejects in the middle of two worlds, and neither of them accept us completely," he sighed. "No longer magical, yet not sufficiently Muggle. What a harsh destiny, don't you think?"_

_She gently brushed his cheeks with her fingers. "No," she said determinedly. "It's our life, and I love every little part of it as long as you are with me."_

_He took her hands in his hands and kissed them. "Darling," he replied, and his voice wavered a little. "I don't deserve you."_

_She kissed him on his eyelids. "You are the only thing that counts in my existence."_

"_As are you," he murmured, rocking her in his arms._

_A few moments and many kisses after, she left the studio, telling him with an expressive look that she would wait for him in their room. He smiled quietly, letting his eyes speak for him. _

_But, as soon as he was alone, he took the wand in his hand again and watched it. His grip tightened for a long moment, and his eyes became frighteningly inexpressive._

_He sighed deeply, still lost in contemplation, then lowered his head and shook it as if he wanted to get rid of an annoying thought. Again he paused, painfully concentrating… until finally, resolutely, he opened a drawer on his desk and dropped the wand inside it. _

_He closed the drawer with a sharp bang and got up to follow his wife._

_..._

The vision stopped, trembled like the images of an old movie on a screen and disappeared.

The author felt the intense desire of being swallowed by the ground in that exact moment. She glanced at the couple. Hermione was on the verge of tears. Severus had paled. And Dumbledore… ah, Dumbledore had buried his face in his hands so to look absorbed in other thoughts… but a fugitive tear had trickled down on his beard, dropping on the floor and revealing his emotion.

"What have I done?" the author mutely asked herself.

"_What have I done?!"_ she nearly shouted in the darkness of her mind. "In my immense arrogance, I thought that I would be able to shape them a future! In my supreme selfishness, I thought that, by offering them a destiny that I alone had decided, they would be happier and have a happier life! I thought that I loved them… instead I closed them in the prison of my imagination! I acted as if they were my properties!"

Hermione was now trying bravely to smile at Severus. The wizard was incredibly pale, and his eyes were looking blankly at the wall. And Albus—yes, Albus, no more Professor Dumbledore for the author from now on—had simply begun to fumble for a handkerchief while keeping his head obstinately down.

"Well," Hermione said in a desperate attempt to sound unconcerned, "perhaps the last vision will show us something more…"

A sob cracked her voice, and Severus seemed to suddenly awaken. He hugged her fiercely.

"These can't be our wishes and hopes!" he exclaimed. "These are only our fears! What did you put in that enchantment, Madam? How did you manage to perform it, if you are only a Muggle?"

His eyes rested on the distraught Dumbledore. "Or perhaps this is another one of your tricks?" he asked sombrely. "Which of your darkest thoughts did you use to coerce her and make that spell work?"

At those words, the author finally understood. No, those weren't their hopes or their wishes, not even their fears! Those were only her feelings, her worries, her anguish, her doubts, and they had mixed to the spell, polluting it with a dark sorrow. She looked at the couple that had confided their trust in her words, and her heart rebelled violently at the pain that she had inflicted upon them and that she was surely going to repeat with her last option. Wordlessly, she struggled against the tears. And while she sank desolately into a deep desperation, unable to go on and afraid to seal the charm with another anguishing vision of misery, something luminous crossed her mind… and suddenly she found the answer.

It was so easy! Her heart twisted in joy at seeing that the last wand had begun to glow more and more vividly, as if confirming her intuition.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, grabbing the shining rod forcefully while Hermione and Severus looked at her in bafflement. Panting with emotion, overwhelmed by the simplicity and the perfection of that solution, she unsteadily got to her feet and presented the wand to the couple.

"Please forgive me," she said with a wavering voice. "I have misinterpreted what the magic had prepared for you. I have been selfish, because I had thought that I was the only one appointed to interpret its will. But it wasn't true. This is your life. And you two are the only ones who can make a decision about it."

The wand was sparkling in glory. In a deep silence, Hermione and Severus extended their hands, and the author reverentially placed the wand on their palms.

"This is your future," she whispered, "and nobody can make it real better than you."

The two lovers looked at each other, then Hermione timidly asked, "Madam? Should we cast a—"

"No!" the author exclaimed, feeling triumphant while the sweetest of sensations filled her heart. "You mustn't use the wand. This is your destiny, and you will build it together, day after day, joy after joy, pain after pain, without knowing anything in advance, as every living being on this earth."

"You mean the wand will be a link to our future?" Severus murmured with a slight frown.

"YOU are your future," the author solemnly said.

And as if answering her words, the wand blazed fiercely and disappeared in glittering sparks. The couple started while the author let out a little laughter of joy. Her eyes moistened. "No more authors playing with you," she whispered, "You are alive. You are free!"

Dumbledore raised his head and smiled hesitantly at the lady.

"All is well what ends well," he croaked, "Exactly as I used to say!"

And his smile steadied in an impertinent, disarming grin.

...

"Why are you leaving so soon, Madam?" Hermione asked with the dreamy voice of those who have been so deeply surprised that they need time to come back from their enchanted kingdom of wonders. The girl and Severus had escorted Dumbledore and the author to the door in a confused exchange of exclamations, greetings and questions.

"My mission is ended," the author replied, feeling happy and immensely sad at the same time. Then she seemed to be hit by a sudden thought and watched Dumbledore with a frown.

"Before I go, there is something I need to ask: Are they really married?" she whispered to him.

The great wizard smiled and his eyes twinkled in amusement. "In this kind of matter, I am as old-fashioned as you are," he murmured back.

Reassured, the author turned to the couple.

"Good luck, Professor," she said, feeling her heart become heavy. "Good luck, Hermione. I hope that you will always be…"

Words choked on her lips and, at that point, the author couldn't resist any longer. Impulsively, she advanced and embraced the girl tightly. After a moment of surprise, Hermione returned the hug, and the many emotions she had undergone in those last hours eventually broke the girl's self-imposed control.

"Thank you, Madam," she sobbed, crying in the author's arms like she would do in those of a mother.

They both stayed embraced for a long moment, then they slowly disentangled themselves and smiled at each other amongst the tears that were now shining also in the older woman's eyes. Hermione sniffled and smiled again, blinking to recompose herself. The author wiped her eyes and, not daring to hug Severus (though she would have liked it so much!), she extended her hand in a greeting.

"Good-bye, Severus. I'll miss you too," she said simply. Severus took her hand and unexpectedly brought it to his lips.

"I've finally understood who you are," he whispered with his mesmerizing voice. "Thank you for your generosity."

The author smiled hazily and would have probably kept smiling stupidly for another day if Dumbledore hadn't taken her arm. She startled, abruptly awakened.

"Oh no! No! NO!" she exclaimed in desperation, suddenly realising what was going to happen. But it was too late. The cottage and the faces of those around her were already whirling and disappearing in a blur.

...

It was white and quiet. An irritated voice broke the silence.

"Not found yet?"

"You must be patient, my dear lady. Coming back is never as easy as going. You should have learned it by now."

"Albus, I hope this is not your idea of a joke."

"Don't worry, Madam, sooner or later we'll find a passage."

"_Find a passage?!_ I thought you knew the place!"

Silence.

More silence.

An immense silence.

The first voice again, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Albus? I'm too old to play hide and seek…"

"..."

"Look, Albus, I'm not going to offer you a pizza if you leave me here!"

"..."

"Albus?"

"Albus, please…?"

"AAAAAAAALLLLBUUUS!"

...

_**From the author's letter to Albus Dumbledore:**_

…_I know that a grown-up woman shouldn't be so emotional. But this has been a most unusual adventure for me, and, after long reflection, which you made easy by abandoning me in that white desert and waiting three days before coming to the rescue…_

_Anyway, I feel the need to thank you for offering me the chance. _

_When we met, four years ago, I was a budding author who had just begun to play with the many characters—I mean, people—living in the same books in which you live. As you imagined, your proposal was a great temptation for an aspiring writer; being offered a whole world and so many beings, already shaped, already enriched by qualities and flaws, and already known by millions of potential readers! Indubitably, a situation that granted an unlimited audience and an immediate reward._

_It's something—and you do understand it very well, don't you?—it's something that gently pushes you to the edge of the abyss. You feel immense. You feel powerful. You feel invincible. You feel that you have every right, and the poor helpless creatures, your slaves, have to bow to it._

_But growing every day more intimate with your paper friends, I finally understood that I was only an intermediary. What we portray mustn't simply be a satisfaction of our egotistical instincts. It must suit the characters, exalt them, give them every chance to shine at their best… and not deform them into ridiculous caricatures_.

_The characters of __whom we write__, whether they are __borrowed__ or whether __they __have been created by us__, slowly __escape __our keyboards __and __acquire their__ own __strength__, which is then __further amplified__by the readers, __who share the joy of our creation when __the story__ is __published. The __readers can see __things __that we didn't plan__ and that can surprise us. So, at that __point, we must be able to__ let __the full potential __of the characters unfold __without burdening them __with __our vision of life __or with our __momentary __feelings. __And finally, we must let them free. Perhaps the hardest thing for an author to do, as a good friend of mine and a wonderful author once told me. _

_I'm glad that Hermione and Severus offered me this opportunity. I miss them very much already. I wish I could know what they are doing now, but knowing them so well after that long time spent in their company, I'm sure they are happy with the life they have freely chosen. Surely much happier than with any one of the options I could have created for them._

_So, Albus, thank you. In spite of your many flaws, that mirror mine in a disquieting way, I know that you are a good character. I have been glad to interact with you. And yes, I forgive you your last damn trick!_

_I hope to have news from you in the future. _

_Be well, hug Minerva for me, and give my best regards to the others, especially Harry and Ron. _

_Enjoy as long as you can (unfortunately, I can't change canon.)_

_Yours faithfully,_

_The author_

* * *

**Goodbye from the author:**

Well, this really is the end of our journey. Again, can't believe we have reached it. Very saddening...

Anyway. I think I have explained my vision verbosely enough in my letter to Albus, so just a few simple things:

1) As you have noticed, this chapter is very long compared to the previous ones, but I decided to keep it in its full length because I didn't want to make you wait further for the final solution. Splitting it in two parts would have been only annoying. However, there is also another reason. Perhaps some of you would like to ask for additional explanations because of something still not clear in the story - and I am especially thinking of the unregistered guests to whom I cannot answer directly. In that case, I will split the chapter in two and post again the second part with my answers inserted. So, should you see a new chapter, be advised that it will only be the second half with answers, and not a prosecution of the story.

2) I would like to thank you all. Thank you very very much. :)

Travelling with you for all these days has been a wonderful experience, and I have enjoyed it a lot. I hope you enjoyed as well, and again, apologies if my invention wasn't as good as you expected.

I'll be happy to hear from you if you want to let me know your final impressions. In the meantime, I wish you all the best!

PS: I'm always looking for betas. If anybody is interested and brave enough, please let me know...


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